Wawanakwa Academy
by xGoldenSpiritx
Summary: As the summer comes to an end, students from all over Ontario start to prepare themselves for the next anticipated school year. This is especially true for the students of Wawanakwa Academy. But with their new principal: the infamous Chris McLean in charge, drama is bound to ensue. (SYOC Closed)
1. Chapter 1

**Date: Monday, August 30; 1 week before the 1st day of school**

 **Time: 11:26 a.m.**

 **Place: Principal's Office of Wawanakwa High**

* * *

Enter a dark, and silent room; a single open window, distributing a light end-of-summer breeze throughout the vacant office. A number two Ticonderoga brand pencil rolls gently off of the desk and makes an echoed clank against the marble floors. The subtle creek of the mosaic door allows a beam of artificial light to evade the scene as heavy feet shuffle across the floor. The office light clicks on, and the moving figure comes to a halt at the front of the desk. He reaches out under a cluttered mess of various books and utensils to pull out a framed name plate that had been collecting dust. On it, in large bold, black letters it can be read, 'Principal Chris McLean'. Chris gave a devious smirk, dusting off the plate and placing it proudly in the center of his desk. Galloping over to his chair, he leaned back placing two hands behind his head and two feet up on a table.

"McClean!" a shrill voice entered the scene.

Chris sighed to himself audibly, rolling his charcoal colored eyes, quickly plastering a fake smile onto his features. His chair swiveled around to meet the owner of the screech.

"Mildred," he cheers, "long time no see. How've you been?"

There was a sudden unjustified pause between the two.

"It's Blaineley now…You know when I heard that Principal Moore oh so mysteriously "retired" over the summer, I knew something was up…" She made air quotes as she spoke.

"But I didn't think they'd stoop _this low_ in order to replace him. I can smell your sketchiness from a mile away Chris. I know you had something to do with this!" She paused to point an accusing finger in his direction.

Chris let out a cool chuckle and slowly lowered her finger to her side.

"Sorry to rain on your hate parade, but I have no idea what you're talking about. All I know is that the superintendent gave me a call last month, and asked me to reinstate my position as Principal. And you know what those cheesy infomercials say, 'It was an offer I simply couldn't refuse!'" he mocked.

Blaineley rolled her eyes, not saying a thing, but plopping a thick stack of papers onto his desk. Chris sat up in a startled like manner.

"What's this?" He stared skeptically at the disorganized stack.

"Students. Our secretary quit last year, so now it's your job to organize all of these papers and create a schedule based on academic and elective requirement for each and every student in the school."

"What?"

Blaineley began to pick at her red painted nails, "You heard me."

"Do you know how much time this is going to take me to do all by myself?" he eyed her suspiciously.

"Days... and days... and days... So you better get started. The first day is in a week."

Blaineley smirked at him and began to leave the office, almost aggressively slamming the door behind her.

Chris took a small bundle of papers and shuffled through them, briefing over a few names;a smirk slowly growing back to compliment his narcissistic glare.

"It feels good to be back..."

* * *

There you have it. This story will revolve around teen life in high-school so there will be no elimination process. Just a few guidelines before we begin.

\- **Please submit by PM only.** You know how Fanfiction rules can be with the reviews, and I like it when there is an element of surprise as to who each person is, as oppose to having their entire application available for everybody to read in the reviews.

- **Please only use my application.** I made this application containing only information that I need from you that I am going to use. So nothing is unnecessary information. Please fill it out to the best of your ability.

\- **You may submit up to 2 characters.** But there's no guarantee that I will accept them both. Also, we don't want too many siblings or twins because I think that takes away the individuality from one character if their storyline revolves around another person.

 **\- Please be creative but realistic.** We can't all be nice guys or nice girls. Give variety to your character. And remember this is a normal high-school. Please don't give your character anything out of proportion like super powers.

\- **I will be accepting 19 'students', no matter which grade.** 10 boys and 9 girls because I am putting one of my female OCs in the story.

That's all. If you don't get accepted, that doesn't necessarily mean I didn't like your character. It could mean that I already have someone similar to your character, or it was a tight margin and there wasn't enough space. Please have fun with making these. I will post once I feel that I have finalized the cast. This is not first come first serve, it's by quality. If you want to copy and paste the application, it is on my profile. Thank you and don't forget to have fun! :3

* * *

Application for 'Wawanakwa Academy'

*= optional

Name (First Middle Last):

Gender:

Age:

Appearance

(This can be in the form of a link to a picture if you happen to be a good artist and/or a written description. If written, fill out the blanks below)

Height ( short, medium, tall/I don't need specific measurements):

Weight (skinny, average, big/I don't need specific measurements):

Hair Style/Length/Color:

Eye Shape/Color:

Skin Color:

Lip Color/ Lip Stick Color (if girl):

Piercings/ Tattoos?*:

Accessories?*:

School Clothing:

Home Clothing:

Pajamas:

Personality (as much information as you feel necessary):

Bio (as much information as you feel necessary):

Family:

Talents:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Fears:

Would you allow your OC to be involved romantically with another OC?:

Grade (9th, 10th, 11th, or 12th):

New Student or Returning Student?(did you go to Wawanakwa Academy last year?):

What did your OC do over the summer?:

Favorite Subject(s) (Math, Science, English, History, Phys-Ed):

Choose 1 Elective (Computer Science, Drama, Wood Shop, Art, Cooking):

Clubs?* (Choose up to 3; Glee Club, Drama Club, Art Club, Math Team, Student Council, Photography):

Sports?* (Can Choose up to 1; Soccer, Tennis, Basketball, Football, Cheerleading, Baseball, Volleyball):

'Audition Tape' (not an actual audition, but just a creative scene displaying your OC's personality written in first person):

Additional Information?*:


	2. Orientation: Part 1

**Hey gang. After one of the most difficult decision processes that I ever had to endure on this site, I've finally come up with a final cast list. Thank you to everyone who submitted. There were tons of great, detailed and well-written characters that I decided not to use for the reasons of already having someone similar or, finding it difficult to write for them in this kind of setting. It was _extremely_ hard to only pick 19. With that being said, thank you for your patience. And here's the first chapter of Wawanakwa Academy. Enjoy!**

* * *

Girls

1\. Kara Sanders- xGoldenSpiritx

2\. Sophia Dent- unpretentiousmusings

3\. Smith Albert- Thedaffodilqueen

4\. Shann Tonee- TDI 4 Ever

5\. Jayda 'Dove' Jonas- frizzle1872

6\. Graciella 'Grace' Thompson- Fryllabrille201

7\. Albina Sackville- RatInvasion

8\. Forsythia Ainsworth- Likes it Luxe

9\. Samantha Terrafino- Desire at gunpoint

10\. Claira Wilson- KingCorgi

Boys

1\. Scar Xaren- Scar4Life

2\. Eyrik Banks- Kunnaki

3\. Luke 'Gyro' Harrison- TDI 4 Ever

4\. Adagio DiVagelo- Cream of the Ice

5\. Jordan Smith- XJayNarrativeX

6\. Nahliel Tsumabuki- Nahilel Michelangelo Sparda

7\. Rickie Harrison- The Voices In Your Head

8\. Eli Greyson- unpretentiousmusings

9\. Matthew 'Matt' Drake- Zak Saturday

10\. Liam Gates- Zak Saturday

* * *

 **Date: Monday, September 6; 1st day of school**

 **Time: 6:15 a.m.**

 **Place: Auditorium of Wawanakwa Academy**

* * *

"You know, green really isn't your color," a voice echoed from the brim of the stage.

The auditorium. He had remembered it as if he had lived there for his whole life. Fourteen rows of dark blue vinyl stacked chairs to be exact. Chris could recite every detail down to the vibrant piece of orbit gum under seat H6. The man silently smirked to himself as he adjusted his clover green tie in his mirror's reflection. His back facing the owner of the voice, he made a swift turn to smile in her direction.

"Mildred, fancy seeing you here today. I just thought I'd spice things up a bit today by displaying a little school spirit," he paused to point to his glowering tie.

Blaineley, dressed in a dark pantsuit gripped the orange clipboard in her hand and let out a frustrated grunt.

"I told you, it's Blaineley now," Her expression softened into a mocking mannner.

"And I'm afraid that you have the wrong shade of green McLean. I believe it's more of a lime hue than an Irish folktale kind of vibe."

Chris visibly shrugged and instead of noting her correction, he continued to fuss around with the tail of the fabric, tilting the mirror up more in his direction.

"Ouch, I'd sense that you of all people will be a little more enthusiastic today." There was a pause between the two as Blaineley's gaze got caught in a banner. In large bold, white letters, it read: 'Proud to be Drug Free'. She rolled her eyes feverishly and turned her attention back to Chris, speaking in a monotone fashion.

"What's there to be excited about?" She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Chris' hands halted in place, smoothing out the tie between the creases. Both arms fell to his sides, all while giving his co-worker a puzzled look.

"What's there to be excited about!? Oh come on, the kids are coming today, and you're VP; the big dog around these quarters, with the exception of me of course. They'll fear you like the bubonic plague," he ends with a hardy laugh.

"Doesn't that make you happy?"

Blaineley's eyelids shot open, her blue orbs slightly dilating at the question.

"I...No. It doesn't. Of course you would feel the same way if you were the disciplinary action amongst a school full of brats."

Chris nonchalantly shrugged and headed down the stairs of the stage.

"Well I can tell you one thing. It's certainly a step up from your last jo-"

Blaineley who was following in his path, quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

"I thought we agreed to never speak of that again," she warned, her eyelids forming slits.

"Whatever, just thought I'd get a good laugh in before the start of the day."

She said nothing but instead continued her trek down the narrow aisles, stopping at the door.

"Woah, where do you think you're going?" Blaineley placed two firm hands on her hips.

Chris looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

"I don't know, maybe down the street to that donut place. Thought I'd grab some breakfast. Why?"

"Because you can't. You have to wait with me in the main office for the tour guides to show." Chris raised a curious eyebrow.

"The tour guides?" This time she crossed her arms in a matter-of-factly manner.

"Yes. See if you were a good principal, you would know that every year, we would have a few of our upperclassmen students show the new ones around. And we have a lot of newcomers this year, so we need all the help that we can get." She took a minute to check her watch.

"Their call time is at 6:30, so they should start piling in in about eleven minutes."

Chris desperately felt his growling stomach as it gave off a noise of discomfort.

"Well, can't you handle that on your own?" The woman simply shook her head in response.

"With great power comes great responsibility McLean," she smirked, "Now let's go."

Chris sighed before lethargically following her to the main office.

* * *

 **Time: 6:21 a.m.**

 **Place: West Wing; 4th Building**

* * *

"Day 1, hour numero uno, huh?"

The voice that spoke traced her gaze on the noticeably taller boy walking aside her. Instead of acknowledging her words, the boy continued his stride, silently humming a tune as music blasted through a pair of headphones.

"Hello..." she waved a sickly pale hand in front of his face, "I'm sort of trying to talk to you here."

The male abruptly stopped in his tracks, widening his green and red eyes, slowly removing his headphones and placing them around his neck.

"Sorry about that, Albina. You know better than to talk to me when I'm in," he paused for dramatic effect, "the zone."

"Right, how could I possibly forget?" she sarcastically says. The girl, revealed to be Albina, continued two paces ahead of the boy. Her light brown pigtails animately bounced with each step. She sported a dark purple and gray tank top, and a light blue leather jacket to go over her shoulders. Her choice of pants consisted of light blue skinny jeans, along with solid black sandals and a dark brown pair of plastic glasses.

Just making it about two feet in front of the other occupier of the hallway, her pace momentarily slowed as she turned her head over her left shoulder, calling out to him.

"You know you're going to have to walk a lot faster than that, if you don't want to be stuck with the bad apples to show around, right Scar?"

"Would you slow down a bit? You're walking a mile a minute." Scar sighed, running his fingers through his spiky, bushy rainbow colored hair. Like Albina, his skin also had a sickly white hue to it, maybe even whiter. He wore a chain shirt with black skinny jeans and black dress shoes. A dark, long cloak covered his attire and on his neck he wore a blood red chain. A dragon and phoenix pendant with a jewl locked in between their claws accompanied the chain. Traveling up his neck, was a visible scar.

"No can do," Albina laughed, "you know how Mr. Moore feels about," she paused to imitate the ex-principal's British accent, "punctuality."

Scar let out a small chuckle, "I'm not going to lie, that impression was pretty spot on." he called from behind her.

"Well if you don't want a repeat lecture of what happened last year, I advise we get moving soon enough." Albina rushed into a slow sprint, with Scar following closely behind her.

"Tell me again why the main office is all the way across the school."

All that could be heard was fading laughter as the two headed off to their destination.

* * *

 **Time: 6:23 a.m.**

 **Place: South Wing; Guidance Hallway**

* * *

A pair of heavy footsteps can be heard traveling through the empty hallway, approaching the guidance office. A tall male knocked harshly upon the door handle, tapping his foot impatiently. After a moment, he knocked again, this time hearing a muffled groan coming from inside of the room. Following, a pair of feet resonated sound closer to him. Before him, a tallish girl with long black hair in an undercut with pale skin and blue eyes. She wore blood red lipstick. Her attire consisted of a nice dress and a pair of flats. She brushed over one of her small silver earrings, a tiny nose stud to compliment her jewelry.

She paused, looking over the boy up and down.

"See something you like?" he smirked.

The girl let out a snort, rolling her eyes in the process. "No, I'm good. Trust me. So..." She leaned on the door frame.

"What're you doing here? You know school doesn't start until 7:30 a.m. right?"

The guy, who had been previously been distracted by flexing his bicep snapped his attention back to the girl.

"Uh... yeah. I'm here for the orientation thing."

The girl paused to smirk. "But, aren't you in like, the tenth grade? Wow they couldn't get enough upperclassmen to do their dirty work for them I suppose. What's your name?"

The boy opened his mouth to retaliate her comment but decided against it, refocusing on the girl.

"Why do you need to know? And how did you know I'm in the tenth grade?"

She smiled. "Oh please, I can smell your inferiority from a mile away. And, O'Halloran's* orders. She knew that a few of the slow ones would come here first instead of the main office, so she sent me to mark you off as present and to send you to the right place."

"Hey, who are you calling infer-" He dropped the subject. "Forget it. I'm Liam... Liam Gates."

"Liam Gates," she mumbled to herself, scrolling down her list of names.

"Got it. Head to the main office and I suppose you'll know what to do from there."

As he was about to trek down the hall, he paused in his place.

"And yours?" he asked.

"My what?" she frowned.

"Your name. It's only fair since you asked me for mine, I should know yours."

She smirked deviously. If looks could kill.

"Sam Terrafino, but don't ware it out if you know what's good for ya."

"Wouldn't dream of it..." Liam trailed, heading down the hall.

At that exact the moment, the door outside of the office opened and in stepped a boy with combed back light purple hair. His pitch black eyes created the impression that one was staring into his soul. He wore a blue T-shirt with a pair of black jeans. His shoes displayed colors of blue and black and a blue open overcoat covered his attire.

Sam glanced briefly at him, raising an appalled eyebrow.

"Dude, you know it's like sixty degrees outside, right?"

He simply stared at her without responding.

"Okay then, so anyway I'm guessing that you're here for the orientation. Name please?"

"Um, Eyrik Banks," he said lowly.

"Mm hm..." she hummed, checking off his name.

"Head to the main office. The obnoxiously buff guy in the green T-shirt just went in that direction."

Eyrik signaled her a nod, before heading off in the same direction.

* * *

 **Time: 6:25 a.m.**

 **Place: South Wing; Gym**

* * *

The outside gym door flew open with a slam, letting a cool breeze into the room. The girl at the door, let out a smirk, confidently sashaying into the room. The smaller girl followed behind her with big bright dark blue eyes, her gaze darting from one thing to the next.

"Uh... Kara," the smaller girl whispered, "are you sure we are allowed to be in here?"

The older girl whom was revealed to be Kara chuckled.

"Allowed, I'm not sure if that's the right word to use." She had wavy golden blonde hair that reached her butt, with dark green eyes, and perfectly pink lips. Her outfit composed of a white blouse with a midnight blue open cardigan over it, as well as a floral light pink skirt and white pumps.

Kara inhaled the air around her in a reminiscing way.

"It's feels good to be back, doesn't it Claira?"

Claira nodded excitingly. "Yeah, it does. Especially since this year I'll finally be alleviated from the bottom of the pyramid." Kara took a moment to look at the dirty blonde. Her messy bangs fell into her face. Her colored extensions shimmered brightly under the blinding gym lights. She wore an oversized hoodie, the words in bold reading: 'WAWANAKWA ACADEMY', with jean shorts and brown sandals. She had an industrial bar on her left ear, and her baggy choice of dress covered her small belly button piercing. On her right hand was a small silver ring, and on her neck, a small gold locket.

Kara walked past her, two hands on her hips, and began to stare at a large trophy placed in the center of a glass case.

On top of it was a figurine of a girl in a high cheerleading stance. The engraving read:

National Cheerleading Championships 2013-2014

Wawanakwa Academy

First Place

"Just think about. This year it's going to be _my turn_ to lead the team to victory." She continued to stare at the trophy as if she expected it to turn to life. "Do you think I can do it Clair?"

"Of course you can! You were at the top of the pyramid for our last competition back in May." Kara shuddered at her words.

"That's only because Sydney Squires decided to be selfish and break her ankle right before the big game. If she would just keep her balance on the practice bar, we wouldn't have had that problem. Coach Moss had no one else to choose," she glared.

Claira shrugged innocently, "You were still great."

"Thanks," Kara smiled in a knowing way.

"Now come on, we have to go to this stupid orientation thing right?" she continued.

Claira followed behind her. "Right." The two of them got to the door.

"Hey Kara, weren't _you_ the one who pushed Sydney off the practice bar last year?"

Kara smirked to herself before shuffling through the door.

"Maybe."

* * *

 **Time: 6:31 a.m.**

 **Place: East Wing; Elective Hallway**

* * *

"I don't mean to be hard on you or anything, but we're kind of already late man."

"I know. Just, give me a second."

Out comes a lethargic boy, back hunched over, catty shaped eyes full of despair. His pace must of been a step per minute at the rate that he was going. He had a thick outcrop of tousled charcoal hair, styled into a Victorian ponytail with bangs. He wore a white T-shirt with faded jeans and brown ankle boots. Over his shirt was a brown vest with silver buttons to complete his look. The boy sported multiple ear piercings and one in his lip.

The other boy with him audibly sighed.

"What happened to you Adagio? You used to be so," he trailed for the right word, "happy. But now-"

His glare met that of Adagio.

"Look, I know that this year is going to be really hard for you- with what happened. But, I know that he wouldn't want this for you. He-"

"Eli, just stop talking. Please. All summer, all anyone has been wanting me to do is talk. I don't want to talk. I can't."

The boy now revealed to be Eli shuffled awkwardly away from him. He had a short light quiff with large hazel eyes. His clothing consisted of a white T-shirt with dark wash pants and white sneakers. On his wrist; a woven bracelet.

"Let's just go to the office."

Adagio continued, slightly speeding up his pace as Eli followed him.

"Are- are you sure you're up for this? You could come back at 7:30 and I could just tell them you weren't feeling too well."

"No. I'm going to have to face this sooner or later. Might as well be sooner. I'll get back into it eventually." He turned his head to face Eli. "I promise."

Eli nervously ran his fingers through his quiff staring into his friends eyes. The life, the emotion, the passion: without Michael none of that existed anymore.

"Oh boy. This is going to be a long day."

* * *

 **Time: 6:33 a.m.**

 **Place: East Wing; Girl's Bathroom**

* * *

"Hold on! Almost done," a voice called out from inside of the stall. A loud flush echoed throughout the room as a young girl exited, brushing off her hands. She had blood red hair cut at the nape of the neck. Her bangs covered her right eye. The girl wore a black "The Who" T-shirt with red denim jean shorts and black high tops, and she was covered in tattoos, piercings and jewelry.

The other girl in the facility with her laughed. "Smith, what could you have possibly been doing in there for so long?"

Smith smirked. "Just checking out the acoustics, that's all." She stalks over to the sink, checking herself in the mirror and washing her hands.

"Alright, I guess we should head over to the office for orientation. We don't want to keep the kiddies waiting, do we?"

Smith chuckled. "Ah, don't sweat it Dove. Moore and O'Halloran can wait."

Dove had long blonde honey colored hair, falling to her hips in loose natural curls. Her eyes were large, dark, and blue. Her outfit composed of a combination of a long skirt and halter top along with a pair of Mary Janes. Her frame was short and curvy.

"I guess you're right..." she trailed. "So, new year huh? You excited?"

Smith shut off the water faucet and turned to face Dove.

She smiles. "Yep, I'm a junior this year. Moving on up in the social pyramid and all, y'know? How about you?"

"Well, I'm just a sophomore, but I guess I'm excited. I mean I finally got rid of that old purple backpack that I had forever," Dove shrugged.

"Good for you, D. But that one looks exactly like the one you had before."

Smith walked over to the hand dryer and quickly dried her hands clean.

"But this one has flowers on it." Smith laughed, heading closer to the exit of the bathroom.

"Alright, ready to rock and roll?"

Dove smiled, picking up her new backpack off of the ground.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"To Moore's office it is then!" Smith cheered triumphantly.

* * *

 **Time: 6:36 a.m.**

 **Place: North Wing; Main Office**

* * *

One by one all 11 student tour guides began to pile into the main office where Chris and Blaineley were waiting for them. As each of them entered, the main question became relevant to all in the office.

"Where's Mr. Moore?" Scar burst from a corner in the room.

Chris smiled at the students, standing from his chair in the office as the talk died down.

"Hello, students! I bet you're all wondering where your beloved principal Mr. Moore is."

Kara placed two firm hands on her hips. "Yeah, if it wasn't already obvious, we would like some answers."

The talk slowly began to rise up again.

"Ok, ok. Don't slit my throat. See the thing is, Mr. Moore... retired over the summer."

"Retired?" Liam questioned, "The guy was only 34."

No one seemed to notice, but Eyrik slowly nodded in agreement with Liam.

"Ech, em. He was 36 to be exact: wasn't that young. Anyway, because of his unexpected retirement, they needed someone to take the new job opening." Chris continued.

"And who is that exactly? Ms. O'Halloran?" Eli asked. The whole room shifted their attention to the blonde lady at the desk.

She sighed. "Unfortunately no. Kids, your new principal is..."

"Me," Chris cut her off. The two adults engaged in a miniature glare-off.

"Yes, Mr. McLean will take the position."

The students eyed him skeptically, already not having a good impression from his cheesy smile to his naturally windswept raven colored hair.

"But-" Albina started.

"Ah, ah," he put a finger out to Albina, "there's no time for any if's, and's, or but's. We need to get you kids tour guide ready."

Chris went down the line handing each of the students, a vibrant, lime green sweatshirt with white bold letters: 'Wawanakwa Academy', a cartoonish gopher as an image on the back. When he got to Claira, she shook her head no, signaling that she already had one.

"Well there's someone with school spirit," he flashed a grin at her. She enthusiastically smiled back.

"Um, what the hell are these big, ugly, sweatshirts?" Sam complained. She looked over to Claira quickly, "No offense."

"These adorable, stylish matching shirts will identify the eleven of you as tour guides. So if the new students ever get lost, they can identify the giant gopher, and follow the trail."

"Clever," Adagio sarcastically snorted.

"Okay enough chitter chatter. I'm going to divide you guys up into tour groups." Blaineley said. She took a moment to flip through her lists.

"Ah, here it is. Liam, Adagio, Scar, and Sammantha will be in charge of the 9th and 10th grade group of new students."

The four looked to each other. Liam smirking at the other three, while they seemed indifferent.

"Okay, next. Kara, Albina, Eli, and Eyrik: you four will take the junior, 11th grade group."

They expressed different signs of acknowledgement, Eyrik of course staying the most silent and casting his gaze upon the others.

"And finally, we have Jayda-"

"I prefer Dove," she interjected.

"Yes. Dove, Claira and Smith will handle our new seniors." She looked up from her clipboard.

"Okay, then. All of the information that you could need is in these packets. She gave one large yellow one to one person of each group. To the 9th grade/ 10th grade group she gave the packet to Scar. To the 11th grade group, the packet went to Eli. And to the 12th grade group, the packet went to Smith.

"Make sure to hit the checkpoints highlighted in the info. Oh, and meet me in the auditorium with your groups at 10:45 sharp. No slacking off, and no losing children, got it?" she commanded.

Sam mockingly put a hand to her forehead in a saluting fashion.

"Ay, ay captain!"

Blaineley smirked.

"Great. Let's get this show on the road then, shall we?"

* * *

 *** O'Halloran is Blaineley's last name if you didn't happen to pick that up.**

* * *

 **Finally finished. Phew! Please leave a review and tell me what you think of the first part. As you could see not every student appeared in this chapter. This section only displayed snippets of the returning students. Next chapter, the new comers will come into play to adapt into the Wawanakwa Academy environment. To the owners of the OCs, I'll probably be shooting you guys a PM sometime between now and the next chapter so please keep on the lookout for that. Thanks for reading. Until next time!**


	3. Orientation: Part 2

**Hey gang! Thanks for your extremely kind reviews on the last chapter. I'm really glad you enjoyed it. So without further ado, I present you with the next chapter of Wawanakwa Academy. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Date: Monday, September 6th; 1st day of school**

 **Time: 6:15 a.m.**

 **Place: the Thompson Residence**

* * *

"Grace, it's time to go to school!"

The young, 14 year old's eyes shot immediately open at the call of her mother's beckon, her senses overloading by the smell of buttery frying pancakes. The girl let out a satisfying, but tired groan, sitting up from the comfort of her bed. A pale fist went to go rub her right eye, a routine that could only be practiced in multitudes by the time that one had reached this age. Routine.

A sequence of actions, regularly followed. Grace certainly had a routine. She would get up, go brush her teeth, take a shower, change her clothes, read a book, hang out with her friends... the average vacationed teenager's memoir.

But this morning, she would have to fall into a whole different set of actions. For today, marked the first day of at least 180. 9th grade. Freshman year. New school. It had all been too exciting to fully comprehend.

Grace slowly stretched her limbs, her riled long black hair, tightly fastened into a ponytail. Bright and eager blue eyes, scanned the room frantically for a calendar to feast upon. Long sleeve, baby blue pajamas hugged her frame, and as she rises from her place of slumber. A pair of white polkadot slippers traveled across the carpeted floor.

A red rimmed calendar, came into display, exactly five days marked off in violent red pen in the month of September. The 6th day, circled, and above in bold font, 'FIRST DAY OF HIGH-SCHOOL'. Grace offered a groggy smile to no one in particular and quickly darted her attention over to the nicely ironed outfit, neatly laid out on the bed. Walking over to it, she took a moment to exam the contents: a red checkered shirt, a pair of jeans, and black with white polkadot shoes. It was nothing too fancy, but it would have to do.

She sighed almost reminiscently, looking at her reflection in a small mirror over her dresser drawer.

"This is it Grace."

She smiles, but her expression suddenly hardens. "Don't mess it up!" The girl points an accusing finger at herself as her face tightens into a forced frown.

"And now I'm talking to myself again, aren't I?"

"Grace! Breakfast is ready!" the same voice called again.

Her attention fell to the shut wood door. She could hear the clunky footsteps of her father traveling across the room, momentarily blocking the beacon of light through the small crack under her door. For a moment one would have thought that he was traveling to their bathroom, located down the hall, but the footsteps halted and instead backtracked from where he came, softly placing a knock on his daughter's door.

"Gracie, are you decent?" he chuckled.

A small smile replaced her once stern features as she rolled her eyes.

"Yes dad. I'll be down in a second."

Instead of answering, the man quickly twisted open the golden door knob, inviting himself in to enter her room.

"Dad!"

"What? I asked you if you were decent..." he trailed.

She ignored his comment, and traced over her bookbag, as if she was using X-ray vision to examine the contents.

Her father, Mr. Thompson smirked as he could almost see his daughter's nerves constricting her blood flow. "Hey sport, promise me not to be so nervous, alright? You can do this."

There was a pause between the two.

"I know," she uttered, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

Mr. Thompson raised a curious eyebrow in her direction. Her words were flinty but her body language was unconvincing at best. He decided against objection.

"If you're sure." His smile matched hers. For Grace, it was like looking into a gender-reversed aging mirror. Mr. Thompson stalked out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Grace ran trembling fingers through her hair, teasing it softly with her fingers.

"Grace! Your pancakes are getting cold!" her mother called out again.

The girl took a deep breath and smiled contently to herself.

"Coming!"

* * *

 **Time: 6:58 a.m.**

 **Place: the Drake Residence**

* * *

 _Click. Click. Click._

'I'm not as young as I used to be. I'll talk and you'll do the listening. We're in the most important pursuit in history. A search for meaning. What is-'

The clicking came to an abrupt halt as the solid bold cursor blinked in its place.

Matt tugged on his short red hair, his fingers retracting from the mouse pad.

"No. That doesn't seem right," he mumbles.

His right pinky clicked for the backspace and found its way back to home row.

'We're in the most important pursuit in history. _The_ search for meaning. What is the nature of being human?'

Matt smiled at his work, and leaned back in his chair. The sun had just risen from its slumber, allowing some light to stream in from the open blinds. He shut his eyes tightly, embracing the effect of not embracing at all and shielding his hazel eyes.

He was tall in stature, carrying a visibly fit build. His hair was short and in the style of a flattop. His skin was of a darker color, and he sported an amber colored T-shirt with brown camo styled cargo pants, as well as a pair of boots.

A rhythmic beat cut through his thoughts like a knife. _Beep. Beep._ Matt shot one eye open, looking to the source of the sound. His laptop. Bringing up the screen, Matt could read aside a picture of an old fashioned timepiece.

'7:00 ALARM : Go to school'

Matt chuckled at how excessively blunt he could be with himself after reasonable hours.

"Well, I suppose I better go see what this school business entails. Good thing I already changed," he said to himself.

Matt stretched up and out of his seat. It must have been hours since he had been sitting there, working on his next entailment.

He thought back to a review that he had read over the summer, challenging the young author to stray away from his sci-fi mystery foundation and sighed.

"Remember Matt, the manager accepts the status quo, the leader challenges it."

He quickly grabbed a solid black knapsack and jogged down the carpeted stairs of his home.

"Morning mom," he smiled. Matt quickly grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the kitchen.

Ms. Drake, appalled at her sons presence, shrieked. Shooting up from her nap, the open book that was previously laying on the woman's face, dropped to the floor aggressively. The woman, who currently sported an apron covered in flour looked at her son with matching eyes.

"Oh... have a nice day at school sweetie."

Matt chuckled and met his gaze with that of his mothers. Her dark skin glistened in scattered beads of sweat.

"I'll try my best..." he trailed. A bite of his apple.

Ms. Drake yawned intensely, barely cupping her mouth with her left hand.

"D- Do you need a ride?" Another bite.

Matt gave off a sincere smile to his mother, walking closer to the distraught woman.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine with taking the bus."

She shyly smiled back.

"If you say so." She got up from her position, going over to a sink full of used dishes and swiftly clicked on the faucet, allowing the water to run in a mediate stream.

"Just make sure to have fun and make friends. You work way too hard sometimes Matt."

Matt grinned at her then quickly glanced to the small clock that ticked above his mother's head. The short hand placed itself at the 7, and the big hand staggered been the 1 and the 2. He furrowed his eyebrows together in a skeptical stance and looked back over to his mother. She was staring at him, as if she was waiting to document his next move. Her light eyes never strayed from his line of sight.

"Well, you know what they say. An author's work is never done."

The woman let out a hardy chuckle.

"Right. And who exactly said that?"

Matt gave a toothy grin in her direction.

"I did... just now."

She closed her eyes and pinched the tiny bridge of her nose. She laughed.

"Matt, how does that even-"

But her words were cut short by the slamming of a door and as the woman looked up she could no longer see her son standing there. Peeking out across the window she could see him boarding the yellow school bus, giving a slight wave to her. Ms. Drake shook her head dramatically and resumed to pick up the book, that was once laying on the floor. It's title: Cyberland by Matthew Drake.

* * *

 **Time: 7:05 a.m.**

 **Place: the Dent Residence**

* * *

"Sophie! If you don't get out of this shower in 2 minutes, I'm busting down this door!"

Empty threats, she thought. The girl stepped out from behind the steam infested shower curtain, a soft white towel tightly over her bust, traveling down to her peach colored knees. Her light brown, usually voluminous hair was in a flattened state of long tangles and her long dark lashes glistened in the mirror.

"Coming Joey!" she hollered from behind the door. A series of stubborn mumbles followed, and Sophia couldn't help but have a good laugh. This was it. She was finally here. Wawanakwa Academy.

Sophia had heard some good things about the place, a few bad, but mostly good. And truth be told, she was excited. School had always been her forte since she could color in between the lines.

Sophia looked at her reflection as she gave her teeth a good scrub down. Spitting into the sink and washing her mouth, the girl quickly turned to a set of clothes laying on the hamper in the rather large bathroom. Observing her choice of dress, she smiled brightly holding up a pink and cream floral tank top.

"You only get one first impression right? Gotta make it count," she said to herself.

There was another vicious knock on the bathroom door.

"Sophie! I have to take a piss," the same voice complained.

She laughed while simultaneously rolling her large grey-blue eyes.

"Just give me a sec to change my clothes."

Within 30 seconds she was exiting the room, her two hands fiddling to put in a big diamond stud. Her attire consisted of the same floral top that she had held before, along with faded, torn denim shorts. She walked barefoot onto the carpet of the upstairs hallway and walked forward only to meet a sufferance of her brother Joey, his legs trembling and both hands desperately holding his crotch.

"A millennium later..." he mocked, rushing into the vacant vicinity. Sophia playfully rolled her eyes and grinned at her brother.

"What? No 'Good morning' Joe?" The pair spoke to each other through a locked door as if they were standing face to face.

"Not today," he grumbled. There was nothing too good about this morning. A field day to the studious; a nightmare to the negligent.

But Sophie knew that not even her brother's negativity could ruin this day for her. She was finally on her way. Sophia travelled down the stairs of her home where her father waited for her, a plate of warm eggs and bacon radiating a smell around the house.

He, who was dressed nicely in a suit smiled warmly to his daughter.

"Morning Soph. Hungry for something to munch on?" Mr. Dent gestured generously to the plate. A smile settled on the 15 year old's features.

"What's the occasion? I thought you'd be at work by now." Her father focused his intense stare.

"Well," he took a seat at the table next to her and reached for her hand that wasn't gripping the fork.

Their house was like a palace. A long marble staircase, four spacey floors, and a grand chandelier on display for everyone to see the moment they stepped foot inside.

"I just wanted to do a little something to celebrate your first day at a new school. I can be at the law firm later, I just didn't want to miss this big day for my little girl."

Sophia genuinely smiled, taking another bite of her crispy Canadian bacon.

"Thanks dad. Although, you didn't have to do all this. I know you're really busy and-"

He raised a finger to her face, halting her speech in a blunt gesture.

"I'll never be too busy for you."

Her brother stalked down the stairs precariously joining the two of them in the kitchen, but not saying a word. Instead, he reached into the cabinets to scour for a nice piece of fruit, immediately leaving afterwards and heading upstairs to his room. Mr. Dent watched him with intent, but like the young man, didn't utter a single word. Sophia shuffled in her seat as she heard the door to Joey's room shut close.

"So... what are thinking of doing this year Soph?"

She swallowed the little remainders of her eggs and gulped down a glass of orange juice before answering.

"Well, I'm thinking of joining Cheer this year, and some other clubs..."

"Cheer," he raised both his eyebrows. "Well that must be exciting. I wish you the best of luck."

"Thanks." She nodded at him.

A deafening high pitched beep echoed from the watch that Mr. Dent was wearing.

"It's time for me to get to work Sophia," he pushed his weight up from the table where he sat. "I won't be home until late so please make sure that you and Joey are able to order something for dinner, okay?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

The man reached for the front door and was about to leave until he suddenly turned around.

"You know Sophia, your mother will be very proud of the lovely young lady sitting in front of me today."

Sophia froze mid crunch of bacon, and stared at her father with a look that could only be described as a look of confusion and discomfort. Her voice got low and protective.

"I know." A blunt two words were good enough to send her father her feelings of unwillingness in conversation. So instead, the man simply grinned weakly and left, leaving Sophia to finish her final piece of bacon.

* * *

 **Time: 7:08 a.m.**

 **Place: the Harrison Residence**

* * *

The savory smell of sizzling sausage permeated throughout the Harrison residence, a daily morning norm for the family of five. Already laid out on the table was an assortment of colorful fruit in the middle of six plates with a fair share of gourmet crepes on each plate. Today had been a special breakfast. Everything had to be perfect. The spices, the skillet, everything down to the tiny little chives that he put on the side of each plate had to have impeccable taste. As Gyro flipped his final omelet on the steaming skillet, a parade of footsteps made their way down the stairs of the home. Mr. Harrison along with Mrs. Harrison traveled groggily down to the kitchen where her son fixed them their meals. Four footsteps of giggling, girlish feet followed closely behind them.

His mother, with her tan brown skin let out a yawn, scratching her head momentarily from an annoying itch.

"Good Morning Luke," she smiled, taking a seat at the table, "What are you doing up so early?"

He focused his train of thought on the ready omelet, using a spatula to scrape it off and onto the large saucer to join the others.

"Just making some breakfast, that's all," he answered with a jolt of enthusiasm. His mother smiled sincerely and looked around the table at the vacant seats. Smiling, she raised a curious eyebrow at the teenage boy. He was of average height and admittedly, bigger in terms of size. Gyro had tan skin and black hair done into cornrows, meeting each other in the back to tie into a ponytail. A peach fuzz sat contently on his chin. His attire consisted of a football jersey, the number '24' on the back. Over it was a black jacket with red and white artistic designs on it. Faded blue jean shorts was his selection of pants with white tennis shoes. He had a gold hoop earring in his right ear. Shielding his bold black eyes were a pair of brown sunglasses. A dirty apron draped around his neck. A blue cap sat next to him on the kitchen counter.

"Ah, I see we're a party of six today," his father butted in. "Is Jordan coming over?"

Gyro walked over to the table, sharing out a cheese and ham omelet to each plate there, casting his gaze upon his father.

"Yeah." He paused. "I mean if that's ok with you guys."

Mr. Harrison made a hardy laugh, holding his stomach.

"Of course. You know Jordan is like a second son to us, Luke," he joked.

Gyro didn't reply, but instead smiled.

As if right on time, the doorbell rang out with valor.

"That must be him," Gyro said. He distributed an omelet to his little sister before rushing over to open the door. Lo and behold, there his friend was, standing with a backpack slung over one shoulder, and a soccer ball gripped under his right arm. The two had befriended one another over the summer, when they met at the local park. Jordan was fiddling on the empty field and Gyro had taken his sisters out to play on the playground. One thing led to another and the two became close friends.

The boy had dark brown skin and stood at an average height. His almond shaped eyes were of a dark brown color. His hair was black, styled into a buzzcut. He wore a white T-shirt under a plaid black, white and grey checkered shirt with blue jeans and black canvas high top sneakers. Across his neck, a tattoo could be seen in black ink, reading 'Loyalty'. Moving down, Jordan wore a silver rosary necklace.

"Hey Gyro," he smiled, entering the house. The boy removed his shoes routinely before stepping into the Harrison's kitchen.

"Morning Mr. and Mrs. Harrison," he waved, "little ones." Jordan nodded to Gyro's two little sisters who smiled back at him.

"Ah I see you prepared for my arrival," he joked, acknowledging the sixth plate at the table. "How did you know I didn't have breakfast yet?"

Gyro carelessly shrugged. "Lucky guess?"

Jordan chuckled taking a seat at the table next to one of his sisters. "That's an answer I can accept." He reached for an omelet, scraping it into his place, and pouring himself out a glass of milk.

"Mmm," he moaned, taking a bite "You still know how to make 'em, Gyro."

"Still?"

Jordan swallowed.

"I'm just teasing." His eyes traced over to his watch.

"Wow, we better get going. School is in 20." He took a moment to look at his friend. "And you're not even dressed?"

Gyro grinned, setting the skillet back down on the stove, allowing it to cool.

"Okay, _mom_. I'll go get ready right now."

As Gyro headed up the stairs, the remaining five continued to munch on their food.

"So Jordan," Mrs. Harrison spoke. "Are you excited to be going to school in a new country?"

Gulping down his milk, Jordan smiled.

"Well, it's going to be a new experience for me. I just hope that the Canadian school system doesn't stray too much from how it was in London. Change can be good, or change can be bad. I'm trying to view this one as a positive change."

Mrs. Harrison nodded at his answer.

"It's great that you feel this way. How is your family settling in? Do you need some help with any unpacking?" she asked.

"Thank you for your generous offer Mrs. Harrison, but we're actually almost done. Just a few more knickknacks here and there, and we'll be set."

She clasped her hands together.

"Oh, how exciting. I'm happy for you guys... So, you hoping to join the soccer team?"

Jordan looked down at his empty plate and then back up.

"I sure hope so... if I'm good enough."

Mrs. Harrison playfully rolled her eyes.

"Most definitely. Y'know, Gyro showed me that video of you playing in the UK. You're really talented," Mr. Harrison commented.

A blush began to creep up on Jordan's face. "Thank you both, really." He carefully placed his plate inside of the family's kitchen sink.

"I just hope that this year goes well for both me and Gyro. He's such a kind, hardworking guy, y'know? He deserves his junior year to be something great."

"And it will be..." Mr. Harrison traced, "at least I hope it will."

Just then, Gyro made his way down the small staircase, now redressed into something new. He wore a blue cap placed sideways on his head. His shirt changed to light blue under a dark blue open jacket. Instead of an apron tied around his neck, a pair of yellow headphones took its place. The rest remained the same.

"Ready to rock?" Gyro smirked.

"Only if you're ready to roll."

The two approached the door, opening it and letting the sunlight into the house.

"Bye Mr. and Mrs. Harrison!" Jordan called out.

"See you after school mom and dad."

Those were their final words before the two left for the bus stop.

* * *

 **Time: 7:15 a.m.**

 **Place: Muskoka Park**

* * *

'Close your eyes, count to ten... make a wish. Focus.'

The young 17 year old repeated the words in his head, over and over until he could reach a state of piece. But with all of the pestering mosquitoes whizzing around him, that goal got harder and harder to reach.

Nahliel grunted frustratingly, gripping his temples in desperation.

"Okay, don't freak out. Just concentrate like grandfather said. You can do this."

1...2...

"Woohoo! Keep it up!" a loud voice interrupted.

Nahliel almost screamed, prying his eyes open and looking around. Not too far from him, a girl who looked to be about 18 years of age sped around the track, yelling words of encouragement to herself.

"Doing great Shann!"

Nahliel watched the girl with a raised eyebrow as she mindlessly, in his opinion, raced against time.

This girl must have been crazy. But getting her to stop was his best shot of focusing before school so it was worth a shot. He uncrossed his legs and stood from his position. In a good view of him, the boy stood at a tall height. His skin illuminated almost a literal white color and his hair contrasted greatly, in a solid black short spikey quiff. His eyes were of an emerald green shade and he wore a red V-neck shirt under a black leather jacket. For pants, he wore simplistic black jeans, as well as red converse.

He walked over, approaching the gate surrounding the track.

"Excuse me, miss..." No answer, the girl continued to run, making obnoxious noises.

"Excuse me," his voice heightened.

"Hey you!" he yelled.

The girl halted in her place, looking over skeptically to the boy trying to catch her attention.

She smiled enthusiastically, removing her black headphones from over her cap and rushing over to him.

"How may I help you kind sir?" she beamed.

Nahliel simply looked at her. For a Monday morning, this girl was certainly excited.

"Um," he straightened out his spine. "I'm trying to meditate over there," he gestured with his thumb over to the spot under a large oak tree as to where he was previously sitting. "And you're... yelling, is distracting me. Could you maybe tone it down a little?"

Shann let out a hardy laugh as if the boy had said a joke, but as the laughter went on and she realized that he wasn't laughing with her, she stopped.

"Oh, you were serious?" He slowly nodded.

"Sorry, mystery man, but no can do. Yelling while I run kind of gets my adrenaline up for the day. Gotta be pumped for the first day of school y'know?"

Nahliel rolled his eyes and then looked back to the girl, actually taking this chance to really see her. She was an African-American teen, slim and tall. Her brown hair was braided down and her eyes were a grayish-black. She wore a pink forward baseball cap with a giant 'B' on it. A light orange and white checkered scarf was tightly tied around her neck. She wore an armless red jacket with a 'B' painted in gold in the middle. She had 2 orange arm warmers tied on either arm, as well as blue jeans and a pair of black Nikes.

"Well that's just," Nahliel paused for the right word, "unreasonable."

Shann just smiled again. "Why do you need to meditate anyway? Isn't it better to live in the moment, than to spend your time _thinking_ about it?"

Nahliel was taken aback. He offensively placed two hands on his hips.

"Maybe to you. But, meditation to me is finding yourself. Ojichan ga itteita: It is the power of the mind to be unconquerable."

There was a pause between the two as Shann stared into his green eyes, looking for something.

"Well... have you found him yet?"

Nahliel's eyes shot open in confusion.

"Wh-Who?" he stuttered.

"You. You said you were trying to find yourself right?... The only you that I see is standing right in front of me. There can't be another. There's only one true 'you'. Is this..." she gestured to where he was standing, "him?"

Nahliel's eyes darted back and forth to scan the girl. This couldn't be happening. This random nutball couldn't be trying to council him on a topic that he clearly knew more about. He looked for any trace of mockery in her, but couldn't find the slightest clue.

"I... I don't have time for this! I," he pinched the bridge of his nose, "I need to focus."

As Nahliel turned to walk away, he couldn't be helped but be mesmerized by the girl's voice again.

"Why are you having so much trouble focusing? You focus on what you love, right?" she asked.

Without turning around, Nahliel focused his gaze on the branches of the oak tree.

"You wouldn't understand."

Shann shrugged from behind him, imprinting her eyes into the back of his head.

"Well, did you try to breathe?"

 _Bingo._ It's like something just automatically clicked inside of his head. Of course! How could he be so blind to something so obvious. He was so caught up in struggling to live for the later, that he forgot to breathe for the now. Nahliel whipped his head around to face the girl but by the time he looked, she was already gone. He sighed and scampered back under the oak tree, recrossing his legs and closing his eyes.

"Okay, let's try this again." And this time, he remembered to breathe. And to think that he didn't even get her name.

* * *

 **Time: 6:18 a.m.**

 **Place: the Ainsworth Residence**

* * *

"Forsythia! Will you come down now?" a voice called from a distance. The girl by the name of Forsythia smiled at the sound of her aunt's voice, darting her attention to look at herself one last time in the mirror. The red head definitely leaned to the shorter side in regards to height. Her hair was elaborately styled into large sausage curls, pinned behind her ears with a yellow ribbon. Over her head was an overly dramatic wide-brim sunhat, a rose shaped hatpin fixing it into place. She bat her long eyelashes over her blue green eyes. Her skin glows a pearly dusted white as a yellow necklace sits upon her neck. She wore a nice white blouse, sunflower printed frilly yellow skirt, and black Mary Janes. Her matching white tights and white kid gloves completed her look of elegance.

"Okay, I'm ready," she responded.

As Forsythia exited her room and walked down her staircase, one could only compare the moment to that of a movie's. She held her head up high, walking down and taking each step of her entrance into consideration. Her aunt, waited anxiously below, her hands clasped to her chest in awe as she watched her niece make a scene.

"Oh honey," she gasped, "You look divine!"

Forsythia nonchalantly placed one gloved hand on her hip, and looked naturally to the side.

"Thank you," she smiled, "Appropriate enough to go to school?" She raised an eyebrow. Of course she already knew the answer. She looked good, but the satisfaction of hearing it from another person was just as rewarding as knowing it yourself.

"More than appropriate. You can never look too lovely for first impressions right?"

Forsythia simply smiled at her aunt in gratitude.

"Oh Forsythia, you are going to love this new school!" she beamed. "I've riled through many pamphlets online about it, and I think that you are going to simply adore being here."

Her aunt set out an arrangement of folded substitutes, each one with some kind of arranged picture of Wawanakwa Academy on it.

Forsythia picked one up, and carelessly flipped through it, only really paying attention to the information in bold.

"Just look at how many things you can get involved in."

Forsythia's glare tightened, focusing on a properly placed list of activities for the students. On it: different explanations of various modern sports such as Football or Soccer, and to the left, a few choices of clubs. Forsythia frowned at the print and turned back to her aunt.

"I don't see a crocheting club or anything or the sort on here."

Her aunt's expression hardens. "I suppose not... Yes, well, you know how these Canadian public schools can be. These things may be a little outdated for them to subject themselves to it."

Forsythia rolled her eyes. Typical.

Her aunt cut into her train of thought. "But who knows, maybe you can find something that you really enjoy."

She smirked in amusement.

"Really... what do you propose?"

"Well," The woman paused, frantically flipping through the pamphlets to find the right one.

"There's a Glee Club, hm? Doesn't that seem interesting?" Forsythia looked at her aunt like she had grown an extra head. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"To put it in layman's terms, I can't sing for my life."

Her aunt fumbled, "Right, well, maybe-"

Forsythia held a hand up to her, silencing her speech.

"Don't worry yourself. Everything will work out perfectly... I know it will."

The 15 year old went back to a mirror in the living room, fixing her hatpin precisely upon her head.

She quickly turned to face the older woman. "But I guess this is a good opportunity for me to start over with all that happened at my last school-"

The lady chuckled. "Oh don't remind me."

Forsythia smirked deviously at her aunt.

"Oh come on, you can't tell me that he didn't have it coming."

Her aunt smirked one to match hers.

"Okay, maybe he did."

The two shared a laughter of energy and remembrance.

"Well, I think it's about time we get going." Her aunt pulled her car keys from a tiny purse sitting on the table wood table. "Are you ready?" She slowly nodded as Forsythia gripped for her purse, heading out the door to her aunt's small, old-fashioned car.

* * *

 **Time: 7:19 a.m.**

 **Place: the R. Harrison Residence**

* * *

'But wait! There's more! If you call now, we'll throw in-'

"No."

 _Click._ Certainly there were better things to watch.

The screen fizzed and a new image came upon a screen, focusing on an animated farmer and black and white cow.

"Oh look! It's Milky White! Milky White is a cowwww," the farmer spoke dramatically, dragging out the 'w' out in cow.

The boy watching the screen sighed, leaning his face against his right fist. "Mmhm," he mumbled.

The farmer continued, "Do you know what sound a cow makes?"

 _Click._

"Okay last try," he said to himself.

The screen fizzed for a second time to show a long haired, tan woman.

"Maria-" a thick Spanish accent resonated through the small speakers.

"I'm sorry Esmerelda, but I must do this."

"Maria no!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

 _Click._ The screen clicked to black, and the teenage boy placed the remote down on the coffee table sitting next to him. He should've known that only weird shows would be on at this hour.

Rickie's eyes scanned over to a notepad laying next to him on a couch, catching his attention. He reached for it and flipped absentmindedly to what he wrote on the first page. Scrawled neatly in his handwriting, it read: 'Archive of My Favorite Poems'.

Ricky smiled sweetly, and flipped through the first page. Nothing like a good read before a long day of activity. The young man possessed skin of a brown shade to match his round brown eyes. He was of a medium height with an athletic build. His hair was orange, shoulder length and styled into dreadlocks. He wore a red T-shirt under a brown vest. On the back of the vest, it read in bold letters: 'Don't worry. Be Happy.' On his legs he wore blue cargo pants.

The first poem was a classic. "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost.

He read the first stanza aloud, clearly his throat shortly before.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both. And be one traveler, long I stood. And looked down one as far as I could, to where it bent in the undergrowth."

He'd be sure to pack the pad into his book bag before he would forget, quickly zipping it up amongst the other contents. The house was empty, and he was all alone. His mom and Uncle Ray would most definitely not be home until he was long gone to school. At least they had left him a nice note.

Rickie got up from the couch and went upstairs into his room. He walked past his surfboard and scavenged through an open door. He continued to search.

"Come on... come on." His hands stopped on something large. "Aha!"

His large fingers clasped a pair of red, circular glasses, pulling them out from the drawer. Smiling, he placed it on his face, next pulling out a peace sign necklace. He smiled at his reflection from the mirror.

"Looking good." Ricky bursts into laughter and heads downstairs in a pair of white socks. He rushed to his fridge opening the door rather excitingly. In the ice box, a plastic covered plate of home made lasagna sat with a purple sticky note on top. Rickie grinned, pulling the meal from the fridge and reading the note.

'Breakfast :) Have a great day at school

-Mom & Uncle Ray'

Even when they weren't there, his family still managed to be there in heart. The small, close knit family had just moved to Muskoka, and Rickie was eagerly ready to enter the 10th grade. He even had a blue empty scrap book for the new memories.

Ricky sighed, and finished packing an assortment of colorful pens and notebooks into his bag. The bus would be coming in ten minutes, and he had to be one hundred and ten percent ready to face the world. At least that's what his Uncle had always said.

Throwing on a pair of brown sandals, Rickie rushed outside and walked down the street to the bus stop where three notably older kids stalked around the red stop sign. Ricky smiled brightly, approaching one of the boys.

"Hi..." he said.

The boy didn't respond.

"Um," he tried again, "Hi. I'm Rickie."

This time the boy pushed up his black hood, turning away from Rickie's warmness.

The remaining kids separated themselves from one another, the sole girl there looking so uninterested to the point of depressed.

Ricky frowned, holding his arms across his chest and looked down to the solid concrete ground; silently waiting until the bus arrived.

* * *

 **Time: 7:40 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; North Wing; Auditorium**

* * *

Back at Wawanakwa Academy, a group of eleven students lounged in the main office.

An impatient Albina paced back in forth, two pale hands placed tentatively behind her back. Defeated, she let out a strained groan.

"Where are they? They were supposed to get here ten minutes ago... And I'm tired of pacing."

Samantha who was filing her nails in the back snorted obnoxiously, fixing her gaze on the girl. "Then don't."

Scar laughed silently to himself, flipping through an album on his phone. A pair of headphones once again, sat over his ears, blocking a fair amount of sound from his senses. But somehow his ears would always be trained to hear the complaints of his friend.

"Just be patient, Albina. The buses are probably just late," he said assuringly.

"Well," she stopped in her tracks, "I would be able to if she," she pointed to Samantha, "would stop filing so loud."

Sam rolled her eyes, and continued to file louder, smirking at Albina. It wasn't long until the two broke into an argument.

Eyrik sat away from everyone else, in his own little corner. His pupils traveled around, observing the other's behaviors. He silently sighed, focusing his gaze on the two girls, i.e. Samantha and Albina who began to bicker over nothingness and frowned at the two's stubbornness. He made a mental note of that before turning to the other side of the room where a small group of three sat: Smith, Liam and Eli.

"Haha! I'm all in boys!" Smith cheered excitedly, placing down a full set of cards.

The two other males gathered together in the circle groaned.

"What!" Liam erupted, "that's not fair. How is that even possible?" The 16 year old boy had taken off his Wawanakwa sweatshirt to reveal an extremely tight green shirt. It seemed to the others that with every other movement that he made, his shirt got tighter and tighter, constricting his body. A small rip formed on the small of his back.

Eli looked up from his set of cards, raising a concerned eyebrow in Liam's direction.

"Um, is everything alright there?"

Unbeknownst to him, Liam's muscles tightened in desperation to rip his shirt even more.

"What do you mean?" he innocently questioned. Eli almost face palmed from the obvious nature of the situation but decided against it, only looking at him with wide eyes when the shirt continued to rip.

"I mean, your shir-" he didn't even get to finish the word before his shirt ripped completely off of his body, showing off his glistening chest and eight pack abs. Liam immediately started to flex his right bicep in admiration.

"Oops... was that me?" he chuckled.

Eli rolled his eyes and looked back at him with a new found confusion.

"Yeah, it kind of was."

"Good thing I carry spares. I'll be back."

Liam grabbed his backpack from off of the ground, taking slow and needy steps as he exited the office, allowing for roaming eyes to get an extra look.

"Why do I even bother?" Eli whispered to himself as the later left. Looking around the room, he spotted his friend, Adagio, sitting by himself quietly on a blue plastic chair. His head played low between his arms, and his feet played footsie with another on the carpeted floor. He was doing something with his hands, something that Eli just couldn't see from where he was sitting. He sighed, placing his cards down and going over to approach him.

"Hey Adagio. How're you feeling?" He took a seat next to him. Adagio focused his eyes on a small piece of notebook paper. He was scrawling something in pencil.

"Better," he muttered.

Eli sat there in silence as he watched Adagio draw. Even when he wasn't himself, he still managed to have that same intensity and valor when it came to his art. He was focused. On the corner the page, was a detailed sketch of something that could only be described to the simple mind as some kind of ink blot. His pencil strokes were stern and purposely crooked. In pieces, the drawing expressed darkness and ache but as the four corners came together, it somehow created something beautiful. Eli couldn't interpret it to its fullest potential, but decided that this wasn't the best time to ask questions. Instead the two boys sat in silence, taking in the effect of just being in the moment.

From the opposing side of the room, Dove and Smith joined Claira who was flipping through a thin magazine.

"Hiya," Smith smiled.

"I'm Smith, and this is my companion Dove."

Dove smiled, waving a welcoming hand to blonde.

"Oh," Claira smiled. She stood up from her seat and looked at the two girls. "I'm Claira. Nice to meet you." She reached for the girl's hands and shook them each with confidence.

"A little formal, but I can roll with that," Smith laughed.

Claira blushed out of embarrassment, quickly retracting her hand. "Oh, well I hope so."

Dove and Smith shared a laugh, Smith wiping away an imaginary tear.

"Oh man, I like her already. You're pretty cool Claire." she smiled, butchering her name.

"That's a pretty cool necklace, Claira," Dove smiled.

Claira protectively grasped her gold locket and blushed feverishly.

"Thank you... my mom gave it to me."

Dove smiled, getting closer to the girl to get a closer look.

"May I take a look? If... If you don't mind?"

Dove looked down to the ground, concentrating on the patterns of the carpet. A look of uncertainty clouded her eyes.

"Uh... I guess so."

Dove bent down in a position and quickly clicked open the locket. Inside of it, was a beautiful woman, Claira's mom, holding a kind eyed baby girl in her arms.

Dove grinned widely before staring at the photograph. "Wow, she's gorgeous. Are you the little baby in her arms?"

Claira nodded her head slowly. "Yes, I am."

"That's so sweet."

"Thanks..." Claire's words slowed to a sloth resembling pace. There was a large pause between the trio.

"So..." Smith cut in, "what grade are you in Claire?"

"10th." she answered simply.

"Ah, like my buddy Dove. I sense you two will be good friends."

Claira shyly simpered. "I hope."

"Hey!" Dove beamed, "You should sit with us at lunch."

Claira widened her eyes in surprise, focusing her attention on them.

"Uh yeah. Sure, that sounds great!"

Meanwhile, Kara sat contently, watching her friend Claira talk to the two other girls. A faint grin crossed over her features. She looked down at her twiddling thumbs, concentrating on something in her mind; something that was bothering her. She sighed and looked over to the side of the wall, the top right corner piece stripping away, revealing a stained wood color. She had it all; a great worth ethic, lots of friends, and she was finally head cheerleader. This place was supposed to feel like a second home to her. So, why didn't it?

Just then the burst of the door caught everyone's attention and 22 eyes focused on the eager man standing under the frame. He rubbed his hands together mischievously.

"They're ready. I repeat... the students are ready. Everyone get into your groups, turn those frowns upside down and get your crap together... because it's show time!"

* * *

 **Agh. I definitely didn't want the orientation chapter to exceed 2 parts but I didn't initially realize just how much information I had to throw in there. So, hopefully next chapter would be the final part of the introduction, and then we can move on to the good stuff. :3 Thanks for reading everyone. Please leave a nice review if you enjoyed it. Until next time!**


	4. Orientation: Part 3

**Hey gang! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Guess what. This is the last part of orientation! Yay! Now we can finally get to the meat of the story. Starting next chapter, I will not be focusing on every character now that I'm starting to develop storylines amongst the students. Each chapter will most likely feature someone or something new from the last just to keep the story fresh and realistic as a high-school setting. Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Date: Monday, September 6th; 1st day of school**

 **Time: 7:48 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy Auditorium**

* * *

After hearing the news of the new students arriving, the small group of eleven relocated to the school's auditorium, Chris and Blaineley naturally taking the lead. The walk was long and suspenseful completed with a whole atmosphere of blundering ambiguity.

Smith, who had seemed to be the only buzzing soul, adjusted her school sweatshirt. She rolled up the thick, dark long sleeves to her elbows before softly fanning herself and looking around. Her gaze settled on a certain boy sheltered in a thick overcoat, his purple hair nicely combed back out of the way as not to hinder his vision.

Now he certainly was a sight to see, she thought. He walked with hands stuffed inside of his pocket but held his head up high scanning the smallest details that only some sort of pedant would take notice of. She quickly turned her head away from him in mock fear that he could feel her presence. Besides, to Smith, mysteries were made to be explored. There was a certain wondrous method to the way that he conducted himself that spurred a basis of a desire to understand. She stalked closer to him as the group traveled together and smiled brightly allowing her blue-grey eyes to illuminate.

"Hey, I'm Smith!" she started.

She expected a similar response back but instead, he slowly turned to her, nodding at a lethargic pace as if he was taking account of her presence.

Smith's eager smile was easily replaced by a temptation of awkwardness.

"Uh… what's your name?"

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but showed hesitation.

"Eyrik."

One syllable. It wasn't much but at least it was progress. He must have been a selective mute. Of course this had to be true in the pervasive way that he carried himself about. Smith began to slow down, drifting a reasonable two paces away from him.

"So, are you excited?"

Eyrik looked at her for a while before answering, "No."

Excitement wasn't anything to describe his current disposition. But to place him under a category of hindrance wasn't exactly appropriate either. To describe Eyrik as a color, he would be a lukewarm purple.

Smith responded simply with an unimpressed, "Oh."

Eyrik continued to walk, this time, throwing his hood over his head. Smith watched him travel skeptically but didn't think much of it. Instead, she set her eyes on her next target. Adagio.

The teenage boy's green eyes resembled a glass, and as Smith walked closer to him, she could almost see herself in them.

"Hey Adagio," she smiled with a slight wave of the hand. His head turned slightly.

"Albert," he muttered, nodding his head in her direction.

Smith had been glad to see a familiar face from last year acknowledge her. Although he had definitely changed from when they had last spoke, he was still a friend- at least that's what she hoped.

"I-"

Her speech was quickly cut off as the group came to a halt at the front of the stage. Large bold wood outlined the platform of the stage, and the stairs connecting it to ground level went up to at least two feet.

Chris who was at the forefront, quickly whipped around to meet gazes with the students, exhaling loudly.

"Okay, guys," he started, "remember to smile, be friendly, and most importantly convince them that this is the place to be." He dramatically heightens his voice.

The students exchanged uninterested looks to one another.

Blaineley pinched the bridge of her nose, mumbling words of criticism to herself.

"Just know what you're doing and you'll be fine," she spoke, "Answer their questions, be quick, and be back here by... since we're starting later than we expected, how's 9:50 sound?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Good, okay."

Chris walked over to the large entrance doors of the auditorium as the guides sat themselves in the front rows.

Immediately the doors were open. A flow of new students rushed into the facility, some walking slowly to take in every detail, and others bouncing around the room with buzz. A deafening uproar of murmurs could be heard throughout the room. Blaineley adjusted her pant suit, and marched with power onto the stage and above the children, her heels clanking with each step. She clears her throat and speaks into a handheld microphone.

"Ech em, attention students." The excitement only grew as the cacophony in the room developed louder with her words.

"Attention. Students." she said firmly. This time a few were able to calm down but the vast majority continued conversing with their friends. Blaineley rolled her light blue eyes, tapping her red heels impatiently.

"I'll wait," she said into the microphone. Chris, who had been standing at her side, furrowed his eyebrows together, frustratingly. Then, a smirk easily replaced his frown.

"There's no time to wait," he yelled over her. Chris snatched the microphone from his hand, a soft smile on his face. He lingered for a few seconds before hollering,

"Yo! Shut up!"

A screech from the feedback that the mic was giving off echoed violently. The students all covered their ears from the frequency following a flow of complaints.

"Well, now that we finally have your attention, we can finally begin." Surprisingly, the students settled down into their seats, all staring straight into the eyes of the raven-haired man. Blaineley frowned, snatching the microphone back from Chris, quickly adjusting herself before the students. A fake smile plastered upon her face.

"Good morning students, and welcome to Wawanakwa Academy." A few claps and a cough surfaced from her words.

"Anyway, my name is Ms. O'Halloran and I am Vice Principal here at Wawanakwa Academy. I think I speak for the whole staff when I say that we here are very eager for this upcoming school year. I know it'll be a great one. So-"

Blaineley continued on with her speech as if she had rehearsed it a million times before. She spoke with clarity and poise, never once missing a beat, but still managing to hold a tedious era. Nevertheless, Blaineley went on, smiling brightly the whole way through.

"And as educators we expect that your expectations for us will come up to par with our exceptions for you as studious and diligent hard workers."

From the front row, Samantha laughed aloud, disturbing the presentation unintentionally. Blaineley focused her eyes on her, her pupils dilating at the girl. The black haired teen smiled at the woman, shrugging her shoulders in the process as if to say, 'sorry, not sorry.'

Blaineley quickly looked up at the audience. She was losing them. A few flipped through their smart phones, while others leaned their heads on their fists, obviously uninterested. She sighed.

"And now, I would like to turn the mic over to your newly esteemed principal, Mr. McClean." A series of claps followed, and the woman couldn't tell whether they were excited to meet their principal, or if they were just happy with the fact that she finally stopped talking.

"Thank you, thank you," he smiled. The crowd had reduced their applause.

"You know, I was once young like you guys. Full of energy, valor, and hormones." He laughs, shining his pearly white teeth at the students.

"I really had everything going for me when I was young. And guess what, I still do! But you know what would have made my high school experience two million times better?"

A murmur rambled throughout the crowd.

"Having a kick-ass principal, like myself. That's what would have made my high school experience better. But, luckily, I'm here to impose my awesomeness on you guys in hopes that it will somehow rub off." He pauses.

"Don't worry. I know what you guys are thinking. Mr. McClean, do you really think that I, a pubescent teen could ever be as cool as you? Well the answer to that is no, but you can get close. You see-"

Blaineley rushed over to him, wrestling the microphone from his hands. She stood in place, a trail of sweat running down her face, and nervously laughed.

"Ahaha, Mr. McClean you jokester you."

Chris opened his mouth to interject but was silenced instantly.

"So, anyway, we don't want to take away much time from your student tours so let's get to it." Blaineley glanced at the tour students briefly before continuing.

"If the new ninth and tenth grade students would meet in the left corner of the auditorium towards the stage that would be great. The eleventh graders will meet across from them in the right corner towards the stage, and... the twelfth grade students will meet in the far left corner away from the stage. As soon as you are congregated, your student tour guides will meet you there shortly."

It wasn't too long until the crowd dispersed. Those new students who had friends in differing grades quickly said their goodbyes and separated into groups, stalking over to their appropriate spots. Blaineley walked down the stairs to meet the children, placing one hand on her hip.

"Okay, you guys know what to do, now skedaddle." Chris followed closely behind her, given the group an eager thumbs up, and the two pushed their way outside of the auditorium.

Kara was the first to get up from her seat, walking over to her friend Claira.

"Claira, you're still meeting me at the cheer booth for the activities fair after this right?"

Claira, who was preoccupied twirling a strand of dirty blonde hair nodded intently.

"Mm hm. Wouldn't miss it." she said.

Kara nodded.

"Good luck with your group," was the last thing she said to her as she made her way over to the right corner of the auditorium, following the rest who had naturally separated themselves from one another.

* * *

 **Guides: Liam, Adagio, Scar, Sam**

 **Group: 9th and 10th grade**

* * *

The group of four approached the chatting group of new tenth and ninth graders and stood there momentarily at the energy that they beheld.

Sam was the first to speak before them.

"Hey!" she yelled catching their attention. They all stared at her, mesmerized by what she would say next. She was almost taken a back at their sudden response.

"Okay, I didn't expect that to work," she whispered to Liam.

Adagio frowned, stepping forward in front of the large group of children. Might as well get the ball rolling.

"Hi," he started. He motioned to Scar to give him the contents involved in the introduction packet that Blaineley had given them. Scar obliged.

Adagio ripped open the packet, quickly scanning over with his eyes eyes as to what they were to say.

"Alright, so welcome to Wawanakwa Academy," he said plainly. "I guess we have to go down the line and introduce ourselves. I'm Adagio and I'm a junior this year." He motioned to the next person in line with a quick head motion.

"Samantha," she smiled, "but call me Sam. I'm a junior."

Liam smiled brightly, doing a little athletic pose before announcing, "Liam's the name; sophomore's my... grade."

Adagio simply rolled his eyes. 'What a poet,' he thought.

"And my name is Scar Lucif-"

A small freshman cut him off.

"Scar?! Like from the Lion King?"

Scar stared at the small kid, seeing a twinkle of innocence in his eyes, his blonde hair covering a single eye. He stuffed his hands deeply inside of his pocket.

"Uh, no."'

The kid focused his attention on his neck, noticing the Scar slashed across his skin.

"B-but you have a Scar right there, see?" he rudely pointed. Scar who had never really followed the story of the movie's franchise quickly shot one hand towards his neck and blushed in embarrassment.

Liam cut in. "Okay, okay, that's enough. Let's save all the questions for the tour." As the students got up from their seats, Scar stalked over to Liam.

"Hey thanks for getting me out of that," he said. It wasn't long until he realized that the body builder wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying, but instead was flexing his bicep in admiration.

"Hm? Yeah no problem," Liam mumbled, never taking his eyes off of his bulging muscle. Scar sighed, following behind and decided to take residence next to the other two.

"Okay," Samantha spoke.

"First thing's first, this is the ninth grade hallway. Here is where the general vicinity of your english, math, history, and science classes will be. They try to group the freshman together so you guys don't get lost or get corrupted by upperclassmen influence or some shit like that."

Adagio almost smiled at her tone, looking at some students who appeared taken aback by her swearing.

"What? This the first time you heard a..." he pauses for dramatic effect. "curse word?" he said to them.

Grace who had been among the crowd, looked down to her shoes. She had never been one for swearing like a sailor and felt a little uncomfortable around it. She just hoped she wouldn't be picked on for her inexperience. She raised her hand, a little hesitantly. Scar noticed her, pointing to her hand.

"Question?"

She let out a soft grin.

"Yes. What kind of math course will the ninth grade class be engaging in?"

Adagio shrugged, leaning against the wall.

"Freshman Standard is Algebra I, but more advanced levels include a bit of Geometry and Algebra II. At least that's how it was my freshman year."

Grace nodded, satisfied at the answer. She knew she was great in that subject, so she looked forward to getting back into the groove of things. She hoped that she had been accepted into the advanced math program. She looked forward to it.

Another hand was raised amongst the group, and Matt eagerly swooshed his hand around to get the older kids' attention.

"And English?" he asked, "What's the curriculum basis surrounding that in regards to the tenth grade?" The boy placed his hand on his chin and thought.

Liam answered, drawing attention away from his own bodily figure to focus on the boy who asked the question.

"We'll have to study a bunch of literature and take up an independent reading project. There are also some literary analysis involving the books we read as a class. And we'll have to write essays involving these works of literature... and all that crap."

Matt smiled satisfied, not with Liam's lack of enthusiasm, or brain cells, but at the news of an opportunity to thoroughly study other author's works in full. He had tried to do it on his own many times, but never had the complete focus to finish his studies on a single novel. His mind would always wander to the next piece of art that caught his attention. But he figured that class, was a good excuse to study in full. Matt nodded.

"If there's no other questions we would like to move on," Liam pressed.

"If there _are_ no other questions-" Matt interrupted.

Liam nodded. "Right." Scar led the group down the hall and made a right turn crossing over into the North Wing of the building. He stopped walking when he led the group through a set of open doors, labeled 'Cafe'. The facility had tiled walls of blue and white, and a clatter of long rectangular tables scattered amongst the floor. Amongst the door, an assortment of empty aluminum pans plans organized buffet style.

Samantha started to speak, "So this is obviously the cafeteria," she began. "Over there," she pointed to where the aluminum pans were set up, "is where you can buy lunch for the very affordable price of $3.99." Her tone mimicked that of a commercial salesperson.

Adagio interjected. "Although I strongly advise you just leave for lunch. The food here isn't worth it." He fiddles with an unlit cigarette in his hand, balancing it between his right pointer and middle finger before stuffing it inside of his pocket.

Rickie propped up his red circular glasses, to show his round brown eyes.

"What's wrong with the food here?" he asked.

Adagio shrugged, "It's just-"

"It's the worst thing your taste buds could ever experience!" Liam leaped. He continued, "Don't put yourself through that pain." There was a silent pause.

"Well that sums it up nicely," Samantha smiled.

* * *

 **Guides: Kara, Albina, Eli, Eyrik**

 **Group: 11th grade**

* * *

The 11th grade group had noticeably been a much smaller group from the 9th and 10th grade students, but still decent in size. The four stood amongst the students, watching as they talked. Albina frowned, thinking of a way to calm the students down. She exchanged a glance with Kara. The two hadn't really clicked as friends, but in this moment they shared the same exact thought.

"Hi guys," Albina said, hoping that her words would catch their attention. When the murmurs settled down she smiled.

"Okay then. So we are going to be your tour guides for today. The student orientation packet that our vice principal gave us said that we had to introduce ourselves to you so that's what we're going to do," she spoke all of this while a smile remained on her face.

"I'm Albina, and I'm a senior this year." She looked to the other three as to who would go next.

Eli, Eyrik and Kara looked at one another, each one waiting for the other to go. When the three realized that none of them were going to budge, this happened.

"My name is-" two voices started at the same time. Eyrik looked up at the other two who had spoken simultaneously, keeping his mouth shut.

Kara met eyes with Eli, immediately apologizing out of embarrassment. "Oops, I'm sorry. You can go." she smiled.

He looked back at her with the same sincerity, "No, _I'm_ sorry. You can go first."

"But I-" Kara started. Eyrik shook his head slowly back and forth.

"Jesus Christ, someone just go!" Albina interrupted. For someone who looked so innocent, she sure was a character. The two blushed lightly, as Kara straightened herself out, stepping out and clearing her throat. She smiled sweetly adjusting her golden blonde hair over her left shoulder.

"I'm Kara, and I am a junior this year."

Eyrik went next, mumbling quietly so just enough people could hear.

"Eyrik; senior." He shuffled back into line after speaking, but still held an upright gaze.

A voice from the back obnoxiously blurted, "What?" There was thick laughter that admitted from the crowd but Eyrik seemed unfazed by this. He barely batted an eye.

Eli stepped forward, charismatically smiling to distract from the laughter.

"Hi guys, I'm Eli and I'm a junior."

Albina smirked after the introductions were over.

"Alright, upperclassmen power," she said.

"Well shall we begin?" the brunette didn't wait for an answer before leading the way.

The four started in the West Wing of the building where the self proclaimed 'elective hallway' was located.

Kara began, "So this is generally where we have all of our choice elective classes for all grades." They traveled farther down the hall.

"Here to your left you can see the drama, computer science and cooking rooms. To the right," she gestures, "we have wood shop and art," she mimics in a tourist guide like voice.

A voice from the group spoke up.

"Excuse me, does this mean that elective classes will be a mix of younger and older students?" Gyro asked.

Eli looked to him, shaking his head.

"Yeah. Since electives aren't considered academic curriculum, the school board is free to group together students of different grade levels," he answered.

His friend Jordan walked closely by him. "And what about the grading rubric? I suppose that would carry the same standards as the other classrooms?" he raised a curious eyebrow.

Eyrik simply said, "Yes."

Albina elaborated, "Well, I don't know how it was in your past school, but here we're graded on a simple A-F except E scale... although I never knew why they skipped the E..." She began to get lost in thought before a cough brought her back to reality.

"Anywho, an A plus is 97-100, A is 93-96, A minus 90-91, B plus is 87-89, B is 83-86, B minus is 80-82 and so on so forth. Fail a class for the year, and be doomed to repeat the grade, or even worse... summer school," she laughed.

A few of the students exchanged words and obvious hand gestures until she began speaking again,  
"But really, it's pretty chill here. Not too difficult, but not too slack-ish. It depends on the teachers you have, to be honest. Just hope that you don't get Mr. DelGercio for junior lit. That man made my life a living hell."

Eyrik gave her look that in itself was a response, 'Don't you think you're going a little too far?'

Albina clamped her mouth shut, continuing to walk. The group had now been led outside into the athletic field, where a few students had already started up a game of touch football.

"This," Eli started, "is our athletic field. It's where we usually hold sports practices and games, as well as marching band comps and I believe pep rallies. Or after school, when no one's practicing, I think it's just used for hanging out."

Jordan smiled quite interested by the mention of sports.

"What kind of teams do you have?" he asked.

"Football, as I mentioned, soccer, tennis, basketball, cheerleading, baseball and volleyball." Eli answered.

"Hm, they any good?" Jordan continued.

"Well, I'd like to say we're all pretty top-notch. I mean I know our cheerleading, football, and soccer teams all made it to their own variations of the championships last school year."

A gloved hand rose amongst them, and Eyrik couldn't help but raise a curious eyebrow in her direction. Eli pointed over to her, signaling that she may speak.

Forsythia separated herself from the others, standing with poise and confidence, not a single misplaced strand of hair on her head.

"And what else is there? Are there any more... tasteful activities available?" she asked.

Kara started to speak.

"Well, I-"

Albina quickly cut her off. "Well, let's go inside so you can take a look for yourself."

The question ended there.

The group traveled back inside through a small door leading to a different building from the one that they exited from.

"This is the music hallway," Kara said. "They keep, band, orchestra, dance, and chorus classes here. I know Mr. Jen also holds Glee Club rehearsal down here, and I think there are separate after-school activities for orchestra and band but I never really investigated much."

The students stalked around, some entering to visit the band room, while others went into the orchestra and chorus rooms. They quickly came out and met their guides back in the center of the hallway.

"Although you must be warned, a lot of- overly enthusiastic band kids eat in this hallway during lunch so I wouldn't spend too much time here unless necessary if I were you," Albina snorted.

Eyrik nodded in agreement.

"Alright, kiddies, ready for our next stop?" Albina questioned.

They all stayed silent, still congregated in a messy blob.

"Okay, let's keep it moving then."

* * *

 **Guides: Dove, Smith, Claira**

 **Group: 12th grade**

* * *

Dove, Smith, and Claira met their group in the far left corner of the auditorium away form the stage. The three girls smiled at each other brightly.

"Hey y'all. What's the haps?" Smith announced amongst the 12th graders. The smallest group out of the three exchanged glances, all being older than the three.

"Alright," a bold voice answered. The students laughed. Dove nervously smiled.

"Well, hi," she held up a generous hand. "I'm Dove and I'm a sophomore this year."

Smith grinned, "I'm Smith and I'm a junior."

Claira finished off. "And I'm Claira, I'm a sophomore."

An awkward cough surfaced from the audience as the three girls exchanged glances.

"Well, then..." Claira trailed. "Let's get started then." The small group of teens stood from their position as Smith led the way to the gymnasium. They stopped, surfacing over a hard, wood floor; sneakers squeaking on the terrain.

"So this is the gym-" Dove started. "Here is where we- obviously hold our P.E. classes. I believe the classes are distinct from each other in terms of grade level, right?" She looked over to Claira who simply nodded in agreement.

Dove smiled, continuing on with her presentation.

"Every grade takes two marking periods of gym, but the other two differ from grade level. The freshman take one marking period of health and one marking period of project adventure which is our outside course. Sophomores have one marking period of project adventure, and one marking period of Driver's Ed."

Dove set her hands slowly down at her side.

"Juniors, I believe have one marking period of project adventure and sex-ed, and seniors... you guys, have one marking period of health, and one marking period of CPR." She smiled sweetly.

"Any questions?"

A hand raised from the crowd, and Dove was eager to call on it.

"Yes, you in the blue shirt?" she called out. A bookworm ginger girl emerged, fixing her bold rimmed glasses

"I suppose the changing rooms will be segregated male from female?"

Dove nervously grinned, adjusting her floral skirt. "Oh yes, of course."

Caught in between the mix of things, Nahliel rolled his eyes in exhaustion, looking down at the wood floor and sloshing his sneakers around. As the three female tour guides spoke, he couldn't help but think of his early morning experience at the park this morning. How could he be so distracted as to forget the fundamentals of meditation? Always remember to breathe, he reminded himself. His emerald green eyes scoured the gymnasium for something appealing to visually feast upon. His line of sight landed on a flickering light. Not interesting enough. Then he was sure a few kids down, one of the taller jocks was giving this kid a wedgie. Nothing negative. But then, his eyes landed on something that really caught his eye. The girl from the park.

Nahliel widened his eyes. What was she doing here? As the group moved to a new location, he cautiously snaked his body around to meet her.

"Excuse me, excuse me," he murmured pushing his way through. He finally reached her, walking along her side.

"Hello?" he politely started. The girl didn't hear him. Instead, she was humming to a tune, a big pair of headphones over her ears. Nahliel tried again, waving a hand in front of the girl.

"Hello?"

She slowed down her pace, removing her headset from over her ears. The two met eyes.

"Oh hi!" she smiled, "You're that guy from the park. Funny meeting you here."

Nahliel mustered a small smile.

"Yes. I apologize, I didn't get to thank you for helping me out back there. I didn't quite get your name..." he trailed off, placing two pale hands behind his back.

"Oh, how rude of me," she bubbled. "My name is Shann with two n's. Shann Tone." She held out a hand to him, "And you are?"

Nahliel looked down to her hand, focusing on it as he walked. He would've seen the giant post in his way if he were paying attention to the way that he was walking. A series of gasp surfaced as the sound of Nahliel's face colliding with the hard metal made a huge _Clank_ sound. Shann stopped her pace, covering her mouth with her hands.

Claira halted. "My gosh, are you okay?" She asked, concern lacing her voice.

He quickly got up, brushing off his pants calmly as if to play down the incident.

"I'm fine, thank you. Ojiichan ga itteita: Mindfulness isn't difficult, we just need to remember to do it." A light blush overtook his cheeks.

Shann chuckled lightly, as the two walked following the group.

"You know, I never knew what that meant. The thing you said- the ojiichan thing. What does it mean?" she said.

Nahliel grinned, stuffing his hands inside of his pocket.

"It means, 'Grandfather said this'. He was always a scholar when it came to zen."

Shann nodded slowly.

"That's really cool," she smiled, "I... still didn't get your name."

Nahliel shot up, a little embarrassed at his forgetfulness. "Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Nahliel Tsumabuki."

Shann repeated his name softly to herself. "Nahliel Tsumabuki. Well that's a mouthful to say," she laughed, "Did you ever adopt a nickname?"

Nahliel looked at her confused, arching his dark eyebrows. "No."

"Oh- it was a joke." she said, grinning awkwardly.

"I- I knew that- I just." He decided to stop there, sighing and hanging his head downwards. "Right."

Shann genuinely laughed, looking at him in the most inquisitive of ways.

She suddenly smirks. "I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Nahliel."

* * *

 **Time: 9:50 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy Auditorium**

* * *

After all three tour groups met back at the auditorium at 9:50 and a finishing speech from Ms. O'Halloran, the students were free to roam the school. They were given their homeroom elective classes for when school would begin in full swing at 11:00.

A voice echoed from the reassembly of adolescents.

"So, what do we do for the rest of the morning?" a student questioned.

Chris smiled, his green tie illuminating against the dark colors of his suit. He locked eyes with the student.

"Well, in a short while we have an activities fair for you guys to check out for any after school activities you are considering joining."

A stampede of murmurs surfaced and the students turned eagerly to one another.

"Silence please," Chris yelled from the stage. The eruption naturally settled down to a reduced buzz.

"Right, well. That's all we have to say for today. We will now dismiss you in an orderly fashion. I-"

Chris had barely finished his sentence, when the students rushed out of the auditorium in a hurry. He turns to his vice principal a frown visible on his features.

"So much for acting like a responsible principal, right Mildred?"

Blaineley tensed, her shoulders rising up to her ears.

"I told you, it's-" Her body suddenly relaxed, as she threw herself down on a chair sitting on the stage. She reached the back of her hand over to her forehead and exhaled deeply.

"Oh, just forget it."

* * *

 **Time: 10:05 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy Activities' Fair**

* * *

"So, anything here that catches your eye?"

"Nothing yet."

Sophia had been traveling around the small fair, her feet trekking in circles on the slightly wet turf. Grace, who had been traveling with her followed not too far behind at a similar pace, each booth arrangement catching her specific eye.

Sophia stopped in the middle of the field and turned over to the blue eyed girl.

"I'm sorry I had to drag you along with me." Sophia's hand shot over to rub her arm nervously. "I just didn't want to go alone."

Grace smiled brightly, reassuring the other girl. "It's no problem at all. I- I actually get kind of nervous myself. I'm not too expert at making friends."

The two continued to walk stopping over at the math team booth. Their presentation consisted of a neatly printed overview of their club, with numerous colored operation signs surrounding the title in gold that read, 'The Genius Gophers'. The older boy at the booth offered the two a grin, propping up his glasses upon his nose.

"Good afternoon," he hesitated, "Would any of you two ladies be interested in joining the Math Team this year?" His offer ended in a crooked smile.

Albina came up next to him behind the booth, smoothly sliding her hands on their table set up.

"Tex, don't be so nervous. Remember, they're just girls." she teased, placing a single hand on her hip. Grace and Sophia looked to each other and then back at Albina. She grinned, pushing the sign up sheet closer to them.

"So how about it girls? You looking to be a math nerd?"

Grace suddenly lit up, grabbing the pen from the table and quickly scribbling her name in black ink.

"I would love to join. Math is kind of my forte," she smiled. Albina smirked back. "Very cool." She looked over to Sophia.

"How about you girly?"

Sophia apologetically grinned, pushing a strand of brown hair behind her.

"I've never been the best in math," she said, "I'd just hold you guys back."

Albina frowned, her eyes shifting between the two girls. "Well, suit yourself." she shrugs. The two move on to the next booth.

"So what are you interested in Sophia?" Grace asked.

Sophia thought for a moment.

"Well, I was thinking something along the lines of an art club, or cheerleading."

Grace mockingly stroked her imaginary beard.

"Hm, oh I think the art club booth is set up over there. Come on!" She grasped Sophia's risk pulling her along to the small, and colorful booth. Behind it, Smith, Dove and Samantha stood.

"Hi girls!" Smith smiled as the two approached.

"Interesting in joining art club?"

Grace softly pushed Sophia forward. "My friend here is," she said.

A small blush brushed over Sophia's cheeks. "Hi, I'm Sophia," she smiled softly.

Dove spoke up. "How do you do? I'm Dove, this is Smith, and that girl on the end over there is Samantha."

Samantha looked up from the knife that was currently occupying her line of thought. She looked at Sophia in thought.

"Hm, I remember you. You were in my tour group this morning. You're a sophomore right?"

Sophia nervously smiled.

"Freshman," she corrected her. "Uh, I'm interested in art."

Sam smirked at her. "Well, you've come to the right place my friend. This is Wawanakwa Academy's highly esteemed art club." She placed two hands behind her head, propping up her feet on the wood in front of her.

"We're currently missing a few members who went to go represent some other club, but you get the gist."

Dove politely pushed the sign up sheet in front of her. Sophia took a moment to sign.

"Well, I hope we'll see you at our first meeting of the year," she beamed.

Sophia didn't say anything but simply nodded, walking away from he booth.

Grace smiled. "Well that went well...Oh, look what's over there!" she pointed.

Meanwhile, Jordan and Gyro traveled together, roaming from booth to booth, sign up sheet to sign up sheet eager to look for something they could both join.

"Come on, Gyro. Why can't we just join soccer together?" Jordan whined. He curiously eyed the sport's booth and watched as a variation of boys and girls approached them, many stopping to scribble their signatures. He wanted to be one of those people.

Gyro laughed sarcastically at his friend. "You know sports really aren't my cup of tea. Besides," he examines a pamphlet from the healthy living club and immediately scrunches up his nose, "Nothing here really appeals to me."

Jordan sighed, throwing down his light backpack.

"Come on, we've visited the photography, glee club, math team, and the student council booth, and you're going to tell me that not a single one of those things caught your interest?" The teenage boy was livid.

Gyro shrugged, putting down the pamphlet that he held inside of his hands.

"Not really, no." He then turned to Jordan and grinned. "Don't worry about me. Let's go visit some things that you want to do. We can finally go to that soccer booth that you've been staring down for the past twenty minutes," he teased.

Jordan smiled, nodding a gratitude of thanks towards his friend and rushing over to the booth. Behind it, Scar stood, a wide grin on his face.

"Hello," he eagerly went to shake Jordan's hand. "My name is Scar Lucifer Xaren, and I can see that you're interested in joining the boys' soccer team this year."

Jordan smiled shyly.

"Wow, cool name," he said genuinely. "And yes, I'm interested." Scar pushed out the sign in sheet towards him, and jutted a pen out in his direction.

"If you can sign here that'll be great," the boy with multi-colored hair spoke. Jordan took his time to sign his name on the piece of paper, shortly handing the pen back over to Scar.

"Tryouts begin next week. On behalf of the team, we hope to see you there." He does a fancy gesture towards Jordan, and he couldn't help but shuffle away awkwardly.

Gyro stood there, a few feet away from the booth as his friend came back down to join him.

"So, how did it go?" Jordan stood there thinking for a minute and then looked back up to him.

"Well. The guy there was kind of weird, but I think I'm really excited for this season." Gyro smiled generously, draping a friendly arm around his shoulders.

"Then I wish you good luck my friend." The two continued to walk.

From across the fair, one could hear an anxious shout from behind a booth.

"Join cheer! Join cheer!" a feminine voice invited passerby's. Kara stood there alone, waving colored pins in the air, hoping to catch an interested person's attention.

She sighed as flocks of people passed by, not even looking in her general direction. Kara pushed down the pin that she was holding in her hand, crossing her arms below her chest. "This is hopeless," she said to herself. Her head peaked up when she saw her friend Claira jogging over to her, bringing a pair of pom poms over.

"Hey," she breathed, slightly out of breathe, "Sorry I'm late. I guess I just got caught up in talking to Dove and Smith."

Kara nodded understandingly. "I'm just glad you're here. At least I don't have to feel _too_ awkward watching absolutely no one sign up."

She gestured to her blank sheet and Claira's smile was replaced with a frown.

"No one's signing up?" her shoulders sunk.

Kara exhaled, looking at her friend as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I just don't know what I'm doing wrong. Last year, we had to get three sheets because of the number of girls who wanted to join! And now, absolutely nothing." She removed her hand from her face, looking her friend in the eyes.

"You already know that most of our team graduated last year. We need new people to fill in the spots. What if I let you guys down?"

Claira weakly simpered and gripped the taller girl by the shoulders.

"Kara, you're not letting anyone down, trust me. You're going to be a great captain." Kara smiled lightly.

Claira suddenly coughed awkwardly. "Not trying to be a stickler here or anything, but do you think this shortage of people might have anything to do with what happened last year wh-"

Kara held a hand up and shut her eyes tight. The last thing she wanted to hear about was what happened last year. All anyone has ever been talking to her about over the summer was what happened last year. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

"Can we not talk about it Clair?" she pressed. Her words were urgent and desperate and her eyes were pleading.

"Too soon?" the other girl shrugged.

Kara looked away momentarily, nodding her head at the girl and hoped to bring up a new subject.

"So... why'd you bring the pompoms?"

Claira brightened up, propping herself on her tippy toes.

"Ooh, I just thought that maybe if we were having a little trouble getting people to join, then we could show them what cheer is all about, if you get my drift."

"Right here? Right now?" she raised a curious eyebrow.

Claira nodded vigorously, the soft summer breeze running laps inside of her blonde locks.

"Yep. And I know _you're_ definitely not one to back away from a challenge." Claira said. Kara smiled, taking the pom poms from Claira's grasp.

"You're right." She paused momentarily. "Hey, I think I see Bree over at the Drama booth, maybe I can get her to come join."

Kara rushed off across the field, without waiting for a response, but as she was running all caught up in her thoughts, she ran into a tall figure, making her plummet straight to the floor with a gigantic ' _Oof_ '. She rubbed her head, slowly getting up from the pain and emitting a groan. As she opened her eyes, she met gazes with that of a boy's.

"I'm so sorry," they both said at the same time. There was an awkward pause between the two as they both stared at each other with concerned faces. That is, until Kara burst out into a fit of giggles. The boy followed her lead, holding out a hand to help her up and letting out a few laughs of his own.

"Wow, we've got to stop doing that," he chuckled.

Kara grinned subtly at him, taking in his deep hazel eyes and resting her hands at her lap. He had definitely looked familiar, but she couldn't quite match the face with the name. "Sorry, I'm kind of a klutz," she blushed.

He looked back and grinned positively, abruptly offering his hand.

"Um, Kara right? I believe we were in the same tour group this morning."

She hesitated, before shaking his hand. "Yeah." She mentally face-palmed for sounding so air-headed. Her voice naturally had a tendency to squeak whenever she was flustered.

"I'm Eli."

The two released their grips. "Nice to meet you, Eli. I-"

"Kara!" she heard an excited squeal from her cheer friend Bree who had just spotted her and was waving her over.

She looked back at the boy, furrowing her eyebrows together. "I- I have to go," she mumbled.

Eli nodded as she began to walk past him. He quickly turned around to face her before leaving the scene himself.

He cupped a hand near his mouth to heighten his volume.

"I guess I'll be seeing you around then?"

Kara turned around momentarily and sweetly smiled, her green eyes glistening.

"I sure hope so," she said before jetting off.

Eli softly grinned to himself, his hands stuffed inside of his jean's pockets before walking over to join the football booth. He waved over to Liam, who was busy playing with his phone.

"Hey. How're we doing with recruitments?" he asked rhetorically, grabbing the sheet to see for himself. A decent amount of names were written down, almost filling the first page.

"Pretty well, I presume?"

Liam looked up from his phone, uninterestingly looking at the other boy. "I guess, I wasn't really paying that much attention." He shrugged and began to tap some more on the touchscreen. He looked around, seeing that one significant person was missing

"Hey man, have you seen Adagio around? I could've sworn that if he wasn't at the art booth, he would be here."

Liam again nonchalantly shrugged. "Haven't seen him since orientation." Eli sighed, taking a place behind the booth. They were short on men, so he would have to find out about his best friend's whereabouts at a later time.

Shann dragged Nahliel around the activities' fair, bouncing around from club to club.

"Ooh, this one looks nice," she pointed in the direction of a booth. It's title in bold letters reading, 'Glee Club.' The two approached the booth as a very smily girl greeted them.

"Hi, I'm Erin. And we," she gestures to the display, "are the Wawanakwa Keynotes! We're the Glee Club on campus. Are you two interested in joining?" Shann and Nahliel looked to each other.

Shann smiled, "Wow, swanky name," she said.

"So what do you guys do? Just belt out show tunes?" A dramatic gasp erupted from the members and a tall, skinny blonde boy stepped up to them.

"No, we do not just belt out show tunes! Glee club is a fierce, competitive club. We sing to the death. This is not in any way a game. It is life." The boy closed in on the two. Shann grinned nervously.

"Uh, sorry to have offended you, but I don't think I'm really interested." She scurried off to find another booth worth her interest and looked at Nahliel who still stood there. She turned back.

"You coming Nahliel?"

He nodded swiftly at her.

"Yes, please just give me a second." He takes the pen off of the glee club table and signs his name as slot number eleven.

"When is your first meeting?"

Erin, the bright and bodacious red head from before adjusted herself before answering, "Next week. Tuesday after school. We hope you can make it."

Nahliel nodded boldly before jogging off to join Shann.

"What else do you want to see?" he questioned her. Shann simply smiled, laughing while dragging him off to the drama club booth.

* * *

 **Time: 10:41 a.m.**

 **Place: the Student Courtyard**

* * *

Serene wasn't nearly a strong enough word to describe the scenery surrounding the peaceful courtyard. As most of the students were distracted with some kind of orientation like activities, Adagio found this the perfect time to just breathe. He leaned against a tree, pulling out an unlit cigarette from his pocket, and quickly setting it to fire. He took a long drag before exhaling, pulling himself more down the tree, his pants soaking in the damp grass.

"God, I needed that."

Eyrik who was sitting from a tree branch above him, squinted his eyelids to watch the boy. He had certainly been a watch subject of his since he had first come to this school as a freshman. It was Eyrik's sophomore year. Back then, he noted he had been a lot happier, and more content with himself. But of course, these last three years he had someone else by his side. He continued to watch.

Adagio took a moment to stare into the sky, throwing his head up dramatically and meeting with the blinding rays of the sun. He groaned, letting his head down lower and took another drag of his cigarette. He knew he couldn't go back there. At least not yet. He assumed that people would have already heard rumors about what had happened over the summer, false or true and he didn't want to burn up under their inevitable looks and pity parties. He was over that stage already. Far over it. People would ask him questions about what happened, that was for sure. But he didn't want to answer any of their curiosities. What did it matter anyway? He was gone for good and nothing was going to bring him back.

Eyrik shifted in his seat on the branch, now staring directly at the movement of his limbs. His hands were trembling and Eyrik could tell that he was hurting too much emotionally for his physical body to take.

Adagio quickly whipped out his cell phone from his pocket, clicking a single button to make the screen light up in his face.

 **No New Messages.**

He had at least expected Eli to give him a call, of course worried about why he wasn't at the fair, doing some kind of football, art club, drama or student council related activity. Last year, he would've jumped at the chance to get involved, but now in this very moment, he needed to relax. If he didn't, he would certainly explode. Adagio's gaze followed over to a nearby, clear brick wall located near the courtyard. He made a mental note to himself that he would have to paint over its blandness one of these days.

But for now, he just waited. Waited for his best friend to call and scold him, waiting for the bell to ring, waiting to pass out, waiting for _something_ to happen. He just waited.

* * *

 **Hey guys. So as you noticed, not everyone got a feature moment to shine in this chapter. Don't worry if your OC didn't get as much time to shine as the others. I did that on purpose because I plan to focus on them more in the near future. So anyway, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are very much appreciated. Until next time! **


	5. Princess Pride

**Hey gang! Just a heads up, now that we have transitioned out of introductions, these chapters will be slightly shorter because they will not feature everyone. Each chapter from here on out may focus on a select group of students so that I may properly tend to separate storylines individually and with care. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter. _Please review consistently!_**

* * *

Chapter 5: Princess Pride

* * *

 **Date: September 7th, 2nd day of school**

 **Time: 7:20 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; North Wing**

* * *

"Good morning Gophers! These are your morning announcements. There will be a pizza sale after school today, in the Conforti lobby. Come get a yumyum in your tumtum before it is donedone!" The hallway intercom projected the pitch of the boy's voice in wavering frequency, before a few mocking chuckles surfaced in static. The voice continued, "Get your school spirit gear. Order forms are due by..."

Forsythia had already droned him out before the presumably young man could finish his sentence. She had much more important matters to attend to before she could monitor early morning toneless humor. The fifteen year old's speed was mocking to the average passerby. She marched through the hallway, a complementary mix of blue-green eyes darting from a crumpled piece of paper, to the students hindering her path. Room 3428: that's where she needed to be, not stuck in a manmade traffic jam. Forsythia shut her eyes tightly and reached to clutch her purse. Whoever was in the front of this line was wasting her time. Class would start in ten minutes, and this negligence was going to make her late. First impressions were everything, and so far, Forsythia didn't have such a pleasant one on this school. Her speed easily increased against the current. She tried to sandwich herself between a tall brunette boy, and a smaller ginger female who seemed to be attached at the hip.

"Ex- excuse me," she groaned, pushing herself through. She had almost verbally thanked her petite physique. The couple stared at the girl who had separated them, with matching icy blue eyes. The boy specifically, furrowing his eyebrows together. Forsythia fixed a smile upon her features, looking to the male of the pair.

"What? Is there something in my hair?" The question had come off as sarcastic, but still Forsythia didn't refrain from scrambling to affix her sunhat. As she pushed her way politely amongst the crowd, more eyes began to focus on her. It's not like she was too difficult to distinguish from the average Joe. Besides, there weren't many girls in this school who wore childish gloves in seventy plus degree weather. When she successfully snaked her way to the forefront, a group of girls who had spread themselves across the hall presented themselves as her final obstacle. The four girls walked as a unit, correction, the slowest unit that Forsythia had ever had the displeasure of laying her eyes on. She shortest of the girls rolled her eyes, clearing her throat before speaking. This wasn't working in her favor. The numbered classrooms passed by with apathy. As she approached room 3421, she guessed that her class was located at the end of the hallway.

Forsythia exhaled, placing one clothed hand on her hip, and tapped the shoulder of the tallest girl in the group. The girl didn't fully turn to acknowledge Forsythia, but in her peripheral vision, she cast her gaze on her.

"Yes, hello. I see you have chosen to walk in the middle of the hallway," she continues, "Traditionally, walkers have selected the _right side_ of the hallway to engage in their craft because this opens up the _left side_ of the hall for other purposes. Although, allow me to explain you're not the only one in the hallway, I'll wait for a minute until that sinks in."

Forsythia innocently balances on the platforms of her shoes, both hands placed contently behind her back, "But you know, that's just my opinion."

The blonde girl gave her an eye-roll, separating from her friend to the left of her and allowing Forsythia space to pass. She grinned to herself, and took advantage of the space, her head help up high to the sky. From behind her, Forsythia could hear vicious murmurs of, 'Oh my gosh, how rude!' and 'I can't even right now'. High-school preps are such beautiful things, she thought to herself. Just a few more steps. Forsythia looked to the right of the hallway to land on room plate '3426'. Her classroom would no doubt be right next to it. Ah, here we go. The golden, polished door knob attracted the girl to see what was inside. She smiles, turning the knob slowly and pushing the wood open to see an assortment of desks, most already full with adolescents. A small clutter of two desks sat empty in the direct front of the group, right where the teacher sat. Forsythia instinctively smooths out her frilly, yellow skirt and sits herself down in the desk. Her hands fold over each other and her lightweight bag rests draped over the back of the steel chair.

Mindless chatter surrounds Forsythia, and suddenly she is entrapped in her own bubble, a hushed mull running through one ear and out through the other. She was always one for particular detail. Her eyes focused on a short, balding man, scribbling words. She could recognize the scent of green apple expo marker as the utensil made a squeak against the white board. Forsythia perked an eyebrow, her copper colored sausage curls adjusting themselves to the side. A bell echoed above her simultaneously as the short man turned around to face the students. The chatter died down and Forsythia couldn't help the smirk that surfaced on her face when she landed on the words that the man had wrote. In large, bolded letters, the board read, 'Welcome to AP European History'.

The tan skinned man smiled as his hands shot to adjust his spiffy black tie. He scanned the students carefully like a lion stalking its prey, preparing itself to pounce. The fifty year old man opened his mouth.

"Who here can tell me why we study history?"

The students exchanged glances to each other, a few laughs surfacing amongst them. The man hadn't even told them his name, and yet he had began to put them to the test. One student raised his hand, two desks behind Forsythia. The moment he spoke, the red head cringed at the oblivious way he smacked his gum.

"Because we need to pass this class to graduate." The boy high hived with another next to him as the older man let out a chuckle. His eyes focused on the floor and suddenly Forsythia began to wonder whether he was completely in the right line of thought. A smirk played on his slightly chapped lips.

"There's always one," he mutters to himself before looking up.

"Yes, that is a valid reason. But, what else is there to it?" His question is rhetorical. "Here's another point: Why study European history, huh? I mean we live in Canada right? Well, think about this. A quote from one of the most recognized politicians in European history, David Cameron said, "From Caesar's legions to the Napoleonic wars. From the Reformation, the Enlightenment and the industrial revolution to the defeat of nazism. We," he pauses to point to the students. As the man looks for a reaction, a cool chuckle admits from him once more.

"We have helped to write European history, and Europe has helped write ours.' Europe has a great culture and an amazing history. Most importantly, the people there know how to live. I regret to inform you, but I'm afraid that here in Canada, we have unfortunately forgotten all about it."

The man pauses, his baldness glistening under the artificial lights. Forsythia leans forward in her seat. She seems to be in some sort of daze. He rushes over to the board once again, this time picking up a blue expo marker and writing something under his previous calligraphy. She had to squint to read it properly.

The man placed down the marker abruptly, not bothering to turn and look at the group of about eighteen.

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Who knows who said that?"

Forsythia fidgeted in her seat. She knew who said it. She had read about him in one of her aunt's antique magazines on eastern culture. She hesitated momentarily before raising her hand out to him, her fingers outstretching upwards.

He quickly turned to face her. Upon noticing her eagerness to answer, he travelled closer to her, saying nothing at first but then offering her a generous, "Yes?"

Forsythia grinned, placing her arm down and resting it atop of her school desk.

"George Santayana," she said confidently. Her answer came out with unmistakable clarity.

The man smiled to himself, shutting his eyes lightly.

"That is correct Ms..."

Forsythia perked up, "Ainsworth. Forsythia Ainsworth."

He moved his mouth to the side, focusing to himself. He repeated softly, "Ms. Ainsworth." A grin replaced his hard expression. He looked to her "It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Ainsworth. My name is Mr. Turner." Forsythia offered him a generous smile, her muscles relaxing into her seat. This man was definitely peculiar but the quality seemed to resonate with her.

Suddenly the boy behind her along with a few of his cronies burst out into malicious laughter that resembled hyenas. Mr. Turner furrowed his eyebrows together, looking past Forsythia politely.

"What's so funny, sir? I think the whole class would like to laugh too." Although his words suggested more, his voice was almost soothing.

"Nothing Mr. T. I was just paying close attention to your lesson that's all." His cronies nodded in agreement. Forsythia scoffed audibly, crossing her arms across her chest. Typical high-school boys.

"Hm, really..." Mr. Turner droned, "Well, if you were so invested in the lesson, why didn't you have an opinion on who you thought said the quote?"

The boy adjusts himself in his seat, and easily adopts a smirk. "Sorry, teach. I couldn't see anything over her farm hat." He points an accusing finger at Forsythia and laughs. The girl is losing her patience. The urge grows inside of her to whip around and lash out at him.

"I don't think Ms. Ainsworth's complimentary fashion sense is the problem here. She, as you would know that I mentioned before if you were paying attention, is living. She is being individual- a trait that I hardly see now adays in the youth of our Canadian school system. It's because you chose to be a drone, talking up the 'latest' slang, the 'latest' fashion sense, the 'latest' attitude that you are in fact not living, but instead imitating the works of someone who lived not to appease an expression of themselves, but to appease you: a kid looking for someone to follow. What is your name sir?"

The class is dead silent by then.

"J-Josh John-" the teen doesn't get the finish.

"Well Josh, my name is Mr. Turner. And I've noticed something in you that I noticed in at least a few kids every year since I have been teaching. You keep moaning and groaning about the aches of instructors telling you to pay attention, pay attention... that you started to question, when will attention pay me? Well Josh, it's about time you learn that the world does not owe you a cent. We all have attention to pay. It's our debt for allowing us to take residence in this broken down world. I suggest that you start paying yours... besides you did mention that you needed to pass this class to graduate correct?" He turns back not waiting for an answer and instead takes residence at the board. Forsythia couldn't help the malicious smirk that grew on her face. She smirked deviously, looking to the man in wonder. Is it just the desperate air of first day jitters speaking, or had she just found her very own epitome?

"Well, class..." he started. Forsythia sat up from her seat expectantly. Mr. Turner grinned to her, looking back up to address the class as a whole. "Let's start from the only place that would be appropriate. The beginning."

* * *

 **Time: 8:30 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; East Wing**

* * *

The first class of the day had run smoothly on Rickie: 10th grade Art. His instructor, Ms. Kizzek had taken it easy on them that day, only going over the syllabus briefly and dismissing them to do whatever they wanted, or 'chill' as she put it for the rest of the period. But now, it was second block, and things would most definitely change. He traveled through the less crowded hallway, a charismatic smile on his face. His orange-like dreadlocks bounced with each heavy step he took, and his attire along with his aura screamed at bystanders, confident new kid. At least that's what the girl next to him in art class had called him when she asked to borrow one of his freshly sharpened pencils. The gesture was unusual. Who doesn't bring a pencil to the first day of school? But Rickie viewed it as a rather welcoming gesture. She must have been awfully kind, he thought. Rickie slowed his pace in the hallway, looking down on his paper schedule and checking the room number again.

'Honors English 10 : Room 1226'

He grinned, cautiously walking down the hallway making sure to look left and right at the room numbers. He was definitely on the right path. Maybe finding his way around this school wouldn't be too difficult. Rickie halted at the door of the class. He peeked inside to see a handful of students congregated in a group together. He breathed, blinking his round brown eyes together. This was it. He just needed to be himself and everything would be dandy. Be courageous. For he who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.

Rickie smiled brightly, stepping into the classroom. His charisma seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the room. The four kids who had assembled in the middle of the classroom watched him skeptically. Rickie cowered slightly under the harshness of the light. He sheepishly smiled at his classmates before they resumed their conversation. Rickie let out a breath of air in relief. So much for being courageous, he says to himself. He decides to sit in one of the empty desks closer to the teacher. There was only one other boy who had been conversing with the her deeply. It wasn't until Rickie heard the teacher burst in laughter that he decided to take out his notepad from his backpack; the same notepad that he had read over the day before. He flipped open to a poem that he had documented over the summer. He remembered the day like it had been his most recent memory. As he flipped to it, 'If' by Rudyard Kipling, everything came rushing back to his mind; the warm, powdery sand that collected between his toes, the rush of the serene waves. Rickie shut his eyes in an attempt to relive the moment.

"You know, I love that poem too," he suddenly heard a voice from behind him.

Rickie jolted in reaction, letting out a subtle yell. His heartbeat naturally sped up, and he whipped his head around to meet the owner of the voice. When he turned around Rickie relaxed, looking to the red headed boy: the same boy that had been conversing with the teacher.

"Oh, hi," he muttered. The other boy smiled brightly and put up his hand to wave.

"Hiya. I'm Matthew. Matt for short. And what should I call you?"

Rickie raised a curious eyebrow. All day, all anyone has been to him, is distant. But suddenly, this boy comes along and opens up so easily, that it excites Rickie.

"I'm Rickie Harrison." Matt grins, nodding his head.

"I suspect you're new here?" he questioned.

Rickie nods quickly. A blush grew onto his face. "Yes, how do you know?"

Matt beamed, leaning one hand against a neighboring desk, the other on his hip.

"You looked pretty conflicted when you came in here so I just assumed..." Matt trails off, looking to the plastered walls of the classroom.

Matt lies his gaze on Rickie, studying him intensely. If he were to put him into narration, he would describe him as mix of crispy chicken and savory waffles. He was an odd combination of physical traits. Bright dreadlocks, brown skin, pink lips. But, surprisingly- they went well together. They inexplicably came together to personify this fifteen year old boy. They worked in harmony with one another. Matt appreciated that. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"First day jitters? Don't worry I'm new here too," he says. Rickie widens his eyes in disbelief. This guy must have been pulling his leg.

"But you already seem so comfortable with the teacher," Rickie commented. Matt smirked running a hand confidently through his locks.

"Mm, hm. Nancy and I were just speaking about my book. She just so happens to be a fan."

Rickie nulls over the comment, jutting his lips to the side. "You wrote a book?" he suddenly asks.

Matt nods slowly. "Yeah. Ever heard of Cyberland?" Rickie racks his memory. He had definitely head of the book. Who hasn't? It was number three in Ontario. But getting around to read it, that was a negative. Rickie just couldn't believe the author of such a popular novel was standing right in front of him, and he was only one year older than him. Age is really but a number.

"Y-you wrote that?" Rickie started. He cursed himself for stuttering. "Cyberland? Cyberland by Matthew Drake?"

Matt let out a cool chuckle, trying not to sound too prideful. "Yes, that's me. I'm glad you recognize it."

Rickie smiles, his eyes unchanging. "Wow. I never got around to reading it, but I heard it was amazing; a complete plot twist at the end."

Matt smiles genuinely. "Thank you." The bell vibrated over the two as Matt easily took a seat in one of the empty desks next to Rickie and the woman who was previously at her desk, got up from her position and adjusted herself in the middle of the classroom: her short, black hair fixed into a purposely messy bun on her head, and her thick rimmed glasses contrasted greatly with the whiteness of her smile.

"Good morning class. I hope you had a lovely first day yesterday at the activities fair. My name is Mrs. Andrews and I will, quite obviously be your instructor for Honors English 10 this year." A cough was her only response.

The woman adjusted her pencil skirt momentarily before continuing.

"Just a little about myself. I am twenty five years young," she let out a geeky laughter before continuing. "This is my first year teaching in this district, second year teaching in total. My hobbies include gardening, site-seeing or curling up with a good book along side my husband." Her smile says it all. "Now I would like to hear something from you. Please, I want each person to stand up, say your name and tell the class something about yourself."

Ice breakers... It's a shame that by the time kids get to high-school, teachers fail to recognize that these games were designed purely for elementary school students who didn't know how to handle themselves.

The first student across the room started. He had scruffy blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a fit build. Everything about him screamed artificial Ken doll. He smiled brightly, looking to the young teacher.

"My name is Kent," How ironic, Matt thought. "And I like to get hoes." He ended with laughter, sitting himself down with a satisfied smirk. Of course, every class had to have the douche bag 'player'. It just wouldn't be high-school without one.

Matt rolled his eyes, looking down to a notepad he had rested in front of him.

Mrs. Andrews awkwardly looked on, a smile still on her face.

"Um, okay. Thank you for sharing. Next." Patiently, Rickie watched each person go, their presentations being far more appropriate than Kent's. He wondered how that guy had even gotten into an honor's class. Rickie had tried to remember the names that went by and match them to the faces. Sandy, Rebecca, Dillon, Andrei, and... he was about fifty percent sure that one girl's name was Isabella. Before he knew it, it was his turn to speak. Rickie cleared his throat before standing up before the class. He could feel their eyes bore into him.

"Hi, my name is Rickie. I like to, um..." his mind went blank. "I like to surf. And, I also like art." He spoke simply before sitting back down into his chair. A light blush rushed over to his cheeks. Matt was next. He stood up confidently and smiled.

"Hello. I'm Matthew, please feel free to call me Matt for short. I'm a huge fan of sci-fi, and I really enjoy writing."

Short, sweet, and straight to the point.

"Very well," Mrs. Andrews said. She got up once again to hand out the syllabus for the year. The first thing that Rickie noted was the novel, 'Pride and Prejudice' first on the list.

"As most of you probably recognized, the first book we will be reading in this class is indeed _Pride and Prejudice_ by Jane Austen: a lovely book."

She goes over to her desk and pulls a hat from a small drawer. In the hat, multiple strips of paper.

"I know we haven't started the book yet, but I would like to set the standards. In this hat are differing symbols, motifs, and themes that this book portrays. Each of you will let fate decide and pick one of them out. The one that you get is what you will center your first in-class essay on, when we finish reading."

The lady wasted no time in going around to each clutter of tables, some students taking too dramatically long to dive their hand in and pull something out.

Matt nudges Rickie gently, whispering over to him, "I hope I get courtship. It was always my favorite aspect of the novel."

Rickie doesn't know what to do other than nod. He looked down at the marble encased desk and began to twiddle his thumbs together. Mrs. Andrews pushed the hat in front of him. He sighed, reaching out to whatever slip of paper felt most appropriate. When spreading the crumpling of his choice, he read aloud, 'Class'. His theme was class.

Ms. Andrews smiled at Rickie. "Ah, that's a good one. The theme of class is related to reputation, in that both reflect the strictly regimented nature of life for the middle and upper classes in Regency England. I think you'll enjoy it thoroughly. Miss Bingley is a good example of someone who holds herself higher than those who are not as socially accepted as her."

Rickie nodded slowly, "So you mean, she's like a princess?" Ms. Andrews smiled knowingly.

"Princesses aren't always like that. It's work. It's not just about looking beautiful, or having the most proper grammar, or wearing a crown. It's more about who and how you are inside." She walks off leaving him with that thought. Rickie sits, staring off at a clutter of classmates conversing at one side. He sighs before pulling out his designated English notebook and flipped to the first clean page. He documented,

'Tuesday, September 7th...'

* * *

 **Time: 10:23 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Student Cafeteria**

* * *

Forsythia easily paced into the cafeteria, a light but elegant bounce depicting her waltz. Her neatly packed lunch, bringing the attention of many others who surfaced around the cafe. She quickly finds an empty table, a little too close to where the trash cans were located for her taste, but still acceptable. Forsythia adjusted one leg over the other. She opens her packaged lunch and removes her gloves carefully to apply an overwhelming amount of hand sanitizer to her palms. She grins before beginning to chew on a piece of biscotti that her aunt had prepared for her, her gaze running over to all of the cliques that began to congregate at their own table.

Meanwhile Smith, Dove, and Claira traveled together, entering through the cafeteria's doors. Smith smiled, running her hand through her bright red hair.

"It was really nice of you to join us today Clair," she says. She leads the way to the three's regular lunch table, a content board near the back of the room. But the usually empty table, had a new resident. Smith raised a curious eyebrow, approaching Forsythia.

"Hiya," her wave was light but attention grabbing. "What's the haps?"

Forsythia seemed taken aback by her loose approach, but kept her composure as she finished chewing on her treat. She simply stares at the girl as if she was expecting her to make some kind of romanticized gesture.

Dove coughs awkwardly at the pending silence. She pushes her curly hair out from her line of vision.

"Hey there, my name is Dove. And you are?"

Forsythia grins, easily pulling her gloves back on and getting up to curtsey at the girl.

"Forsythia Anisworth," she announces. Claira thought for a moment, relating the situation to predator versus pray. She smiled sheepishly thinking that this girl must of gone to some prestigious English school before landing here. Her high-school must have not been the same for her to think that this was some regular day occurrence to bow when introducing yourself to others. This school would eat her up alive. She knew it. Social status quo was too great for anyone to say she fit in; whether it'd be as a prep, a goth, stoner, jock, musician... She just didn't fit. But, Claira was admittedly drawn to that.

"Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Claira. And this is Smith," she starts.

Forsythia raises a dark eyebrow at Claira, folding her hands together.

"Smith? I've never head a girl's name to be so strange," she started. No filter necessary. Smith grinned brightly, speaking jokingly, "Blame my parents."

"Strange." She then extends a hand. "Why don't you ladies come sit?"

Dove stopped to marvel, staring at Forsythia peculiarly. A smirk played on her features.

"Whatever you please, Princess Ainsworth." Dove begins to laugh, but upon realizing that no one else was laughing with her, she shied away. Her cheeks grew hot.

Forsythia held her nose up high, her eyebrows furrowing together on her pearly skin. She cleared her throat before beginning, "I'm not a princess I'm..." She trails off trying desperately to think of another word. Everywhere she went, every person that she had spoken to, she would get the assumption of her royal heiress. But in honesty, that wasn't Forsythia. She didn't consider herself to be an actual princess. Her mind trails back to first block European History class as a faint smile overtakes her. She recites Mr. Turner's words in her head diligently before drawing her attention back to Dove.

"I'm not a princess, I'm living," she settles. Dove shyly grins, nodding her head vigorously.

"Of course, of course. I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you."

Forsythia calmly nods, taking in to account the girl's turbulence. The shaky hands, the trembling legs. She had known it all too well before.

"You are excused." The other three girl's seemed to just stare at her in awe. Most definitely, neither of them had ever encountered a girl like her before. She was everything that you would see in some old-fashioned Victorian era movie. Smith easily grinned as Forsythia looked up from her lunch.

"May I offer you girls some biscuits? My auntie made them herself." In that moment, she beamed an unusual charisma. Suddenly, all of the small comments that she had received earlier that day: those obnoxious girls in the hallway, that ambitious boy in her European class, none of that really mattered anymore.

* * *

 **Time: 11:26 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; West Wing**

* * *

The bell to signal the end of lunch echoed abruptly over the dining students' heads, and the crowd easily dispersed into a handful of stragglers. Fifth block. All Kara had to do was get through two more classes and she'd be home free. She looked down at her paper schedule tightly enclosed inside of her three-ring binder. A single white earbud played a soft rock album from The Beatles' album into her right ear and she protectively clutched a small notebook in her hand. She reminisced each time she had to walk alone, about how it was before. She thought about her friends laughing with lively chatter alongside her. She laughed back and smiled, her cheer uniform pressed neatly upon her skinny frame. She thought about the looks that people would give her. The looks that prided her for the day. Then suddenly, she was back, but her friends weren't. They were gone, and she was still alone. Kara sighed, being one of the late stragglers, and walked out from the cafeteria's doors. She had to remind herself to look straight ahead. People were still giving her weird looks. She was used to people looking at her, but this time these looks denounced her instead. Her speed increased as she made her way to her cooking class, finding the classroom easily. She pushed the door open.

Lab tables, just as expected lined up neatly with one another along the classroom floor. She should've known that the school's promise to get new cooking stations for the school year was a lie. She looked over to the teacher's desk, reading over her nameplate, 'Ms. Swanick'. A young, spunky bold redhead who had just graduated from culinary school. She was certainly a nut, but she was a nut that knew how to cook. Kara relaxed in an empty two seater lab table, flipping effortlessly through the albums on her cell phone. She decided on something a little too corny for her taste, but appropriate nonetheless, 'All Out of Love,' by Air Supply.

Ah, cooking class. The most greatly anticipated course in the case of eighteen year old Gyro. He rushed in excitingly, his eyes glistening under the gaze of his brown sunglasses. He tightened the grip of his backpack and went closer to observe the stoves, pots, and classroom materials that there was to offer to the student, grinning when he recognized many of the least common utensils.

Ms. Swanick easily approached him, her brown hands folded together in front of her.

"Welcome newcomer," she announced. Her teeth had a very subtle yellowish tint to them, but Gyro didn't let that bother him. His body language spoke many words already.

"Hello, how are you?" he tried to be his laid-back self but didn't want to risk seeming disrespectful.

Ms. Swanick nodded faster than the road runner. "Perfect. Today is a perfect day. I really appreciate your style, you know? You walked in here with energy and conviction." She got closer to him, getting in his face and taking in the detail of his glasses.

"Very cool shades." This woman obviously hadn't grasped the concept of personal space as a child.

"I can tell you're talented. You stand out." Her sharp words were blunt but complimenting and Gyro suddenly began to wonder whether this woman had a filter.

He sheepishly smiled, "Thank you, 'mam." She had already bounced away to talk with some other student who had been hanging lonely around the window blinds. Gyro shrugs curiously. He guesses she had just been extremely passionate about her job. He looks around the classroom, desperate to find an empty seat. His eyes eventually landed on a seat next to a rather aloof-like girl. He grinned as she looked around the room, sitting down next to the brunette.

"Hi. I hope this seat wasn't taken," he says.

"Oh no, it wasn't."

Her voice elevated dramatically and suddenly Gyro felt insecure. He smiled cheaply.

"Right." He sunk slightly into his chair, keeping his eyes on Ms. Swanick.

Things were getting bad. This was the third consecutive time that Kara was listening to the hit song by Air Supply. She knew it was a terrible idea to scavenge through her, 'emotional' audio folders, and now she couldn't stop herself. She just couldn't. The girl rested her head on the table, groaning to herself. Why had she decided to do this to herself?

Kara felt a pang of guilt overwhelm her, failing to notice the boy who had taken residence in the seat next to her.

"Is everything okay?" she heard a soft male voice say to her. Her cheeks automatically burn up at the thought that someone was watching her wallow in emotional pain. She threw her head up a little too swiftly, a group of golden blonde strands falling into her eyes. She quickly went to comb her hair back with her fingers, looking at him in shock. It was the same boy that she had bumped into at the activities' fair which made this situation even more embarrassing. She racked her brain for his name. It started with an E, that much she was certain. Eli?

The light haired boy looked at her, a generous smile on his features. Kara nodded slowly, looking to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, a little tired. Um, Eli right?" She knew her excuse was pathetic, but hoped that he would buy it. He looked at her uneasily before letting out a cool chuckle.

"Got it on the first try, that's impressive, Kara?" he says her name as a question. Kara smirks easily.

"Mm hm," she replied.

Eli lit up, a sly smirk to compliment him. "Mission one: remember each other's names is a monumental success."

Kara couldn't help but genuinely laugh despite the fact that a song still played softly inside of her head. She looked at him for a little too long that it became staring. She admits, she thinks he is a little cute- okay, a lot cute and from observing him, her cheeks heat up again.

"Good morning class," Ms. Swanick announces over the deteriorating chit chat. "For those of you who do not know me, my name is Ms. Swanick. How about we skip past the embarrassing ice breakers and just cut straight to it. So, guess what? Fate has spoken on this glorious Tuesday evening. It's decided that the person that you are currently sitting next to is going to be your culinary partner for the remainder of the semester. You will address each other as equals, communicate and work together to perfect a new dish each week for the ultimate..." The woman's voice explodes into one that would resemble a reality show host's. But Kara had already zoned out her speech when she saw Eli smile over to her. She grinned back before looking down to her phone. On the screen, ' _Now Playing on Loop: 'All Out of Love' by Air Supply'_. She sighs before clicking the square stop button and taking the ear bud from her ear. Maybe she was ready to get a little of her pride back.

* * *

 **Time: 2:34 p.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa High; Main Entrance**

* * *

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Forsythia waited impatiently outside of the front entrance of the school. Her black Mary-Janes play a beat against the tough pavement. The girl pulled out her pocket watch from her small bag, her eyes focusing on the time. School had ended over fifteen minutes ago, and her aunt was late with the car. When was she going to get here? It's not like her home was two towns over and when she called her, she said she had already been on her way.

"Waiting for pick up?" a voice echoed behind her. Forsythia jolted suddenly, wasting no time to whip around and point an accusing glare at the owner.

She was met with a kind spirited girl with blue-grey eyes and the most unmistakable shade of red hair.

"Smith," Forsythia gasped. The other girl's smile was contagious. Forsythia found herself grinning subtly, her eyes squinting at her.

"Hiya, 'Syth. I hope it's okay if I call you 'Syth. I just wanted to apologize, if myself, Dove, or Claira offended you at lunch today. We just wanted to be friendly,I swear! We think you're totally unique, and living... and all that jazz." The girl's voice was alarming to the point of humorous.

Forsythia blinked twice before answering, placing her hands upon Smith's shoulders.

"You did nothing of the sort," she said.

Smith looks relieved, a coy smile taking her face.

"You know, the yearbook club is throwing a shindig in town tonight. You should totally come!"

Forsythia shakes her head. "No, thank you. My aunt and I are taking a short stroll through town tonight, you know," she thinks of a slang term that might resonate well with Smith, "to see what's good." Her sentence ends awkwardly.

Smith pauses, her shoulders to her ears. She cocks a confused eyebrow but doesn't spend too much time pressing on the issue.

"Suit yourself."

As if her aunt were waiting for their conversation to come to a halt, an antique car rolled up in front of Forsythia. Her aunt who sat in the driver's seat, waved to Smith who she had assumed was a friend that Forsythia had made. Smith waved back.

"Hey, listen. I got to run, but I hope to be seeing you again. Have fun, um... exploring tonight." In a flash, the girl is off. Forsythia recomposes herself, her aunt getting out easily to open the car door for her and taking her own seat again.

"Forsythia, how was your day today? Did you make any new friends?" her aunt questions.

The girl stares out the window, watching the cars whizz by in an assortment of metallic shades. She exhales deeply before looking to the older woman and attempting a smile.

"Yes, I suppose I have."

Her aunt doesn't answer but instead hums what sounds like an old folk tune while Forsythia focused on the soft purr of the automobile's engine.

* * *

 **Hiya. Thanks for reading. I hope you peeps enjoyed it. Just note that since we have the first and second day of school covered, I will now be skipping ahead from week to week. The story will not go from day to day as it has been. This is obviously for the sake of time and for not being too tedious with details. Thanks again. REVIEWS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. Until next time!**


	6. Stage Left, House Right

Chapter 6: Stage Left, House Right

* * *

 **Date: Tuesday, September 21**

 **Place: South Wing; Little Theatre Rm 1134**

 **Time: 2:30 p.m.**

* * *

"Alright, alright everyone, please settle down!" The commotion of the compact classroom was arrogantly domineering. Students collected around the brim of the miniature propped up stage, leaning against its stripped wood. Others conversed in the desk chairs lined up on the naturally sloped platform of the room. On stage, an anxious sixteen year old girl paced restlessly. Her hands wrung together in an attempt to calm her nerves, and as she walked her gaze glued to the mundane patterns of the floor. Time was ticking away, that was for certain. She knew she had to take control. The girl stopped walking in her tracks. Instead of freezing up as she normally would, she demanded attention.

"Excuse me everyone!" she called into the space. The noisy chatter died down slowly, but eventually. Everyone began to claim a seat, watching the girl attentively.

She fidgeted nervously before beginning, darting up a nervous wave to the group.

"Hi everyone. Welcome to the first Drama club meeting of the year." Her voice was noticeably indecisive as this had been her first year in power: understandable for an amateur chieftain. She continued, clearly her throat.

"My name is Taylor, and I will be your president this year. I have to say, I'm so excited to lead you all. We're going to have so much fun in here, I can already tell. Now I know, we're not the largest or the most popular club in school but I also know we can make the most impact!" Taylor's smile widens naturally as if she expects an outburst of applause and acclamation, but the only thing she gets is an evading silence along with a few desks scratching against the ground. She fixes her stance professionally, smoothing out her black pencil skirt.

"Moving on, I regret to inform you that our advisor from last year, Ms. VanDyke, had to retire over the summer due to a very tragic accident. She completely fractured her hip and is in the process of imperative recovery."

There was a cluster of murmurs coming from some Drama club upperclassmen who had not been informed of what had happened until now. Taylor easily put up a hand to suppress the chatter.

"Don't worry, we have a new advisor now. He's running a little late, but he should be arriving very soon. So please be patient." The students looked at her in anticipation.

"Ooh, is it Mr. Moss? I know he would be willing to do it," a student burst from the front row of desks.

Taylor scrunched her shoulders together, looking at the student in question. "Well, I..."

"Oh Mr. Hayden," another student interjected, "you know, he majored in the fine arts when he was in college." A mumble of appreciation shortly followed afterwards.

"I- I'm not sure who it is going to be," Taylor started. "All Ms. O'Halloran told me is that he is a male. I'm sorry." The group looked around to view one another's reactions but didn't see much betraying neutrality. Taylor smiled contently, clasping her hands together.

"On to something exciting. Our first drama event of the year!" Taylor goes to the back of the miniature stage where there was a storage closet. She pulls out a heavy white board on wheels, and slants it accordingly so that the blank canvas can face the others. She exhales happily, pulling a blue expo marker from the package on the easel and gestures dramatically with her hands.

"The Fall play! Not to be confused with the Spring musical." A few claps mixed with a few snaps in the audience and Taylor was suddenly reminded of a Wawanakwa Drama Club tradition that they had established her sophomore year two years ago.

"Right! When we want to appreciate what someone says in the Drama club, we snap, not clap. It gives off a more theatrical response and isn't as distracting or difficult to conceal so that the speaker may go on. So I see we have some new and old faces this year. Why don't we go around and introduce ourselves. You already know me. I'm Taylor Chandler."

In their seats, Dove and Claira exchanged looks with one another. The two had promised to go to the first meeting of Drama club together this year after realizing that they had been in the same club all of last year and have never noticed each other. At least, that was when the club had a significant amount of more people in it. Now that the group of drama enthusiasts has become more close-knit, there was no mistaking who's who. Taylor smiled, pointing over to the two girls.

"Claira, Dove, good to see you two back this year. Why don't you ladies start?"

Claira smiled reassuringly at Dove before standing before the class, smoothing out her 'Wawanakwa Academy' sweatshirt.

"Hello everyone, my name is Claira Wilson. I am a sophomore this year. This will be my second year in the Drama Club." A series of snaps followed her brief speech. Claira smiled, settling back down into her seat just as Dove stood up to make her own presence known.

"Hello everyone. My name is Jayda Jonas, but please call me Dove. I am a sophomore. This is my second year in the Drama Club. " The same routine, snaps.

Everyone else went down the row from there, each person giving their own synopsis, some more drawn out and extensive than others.

A dark haired girl presented herself before the class, curtseying with her floral yellow skirt.

"Forsythia Ainsworth, nice to meet your acquaintance. I am a junior. This is my first year with the Drama Club."

Kara stood from her seat shortly after her, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt when it was her turn to present herself.

"Hi. I'm Kara Sanders. I'm a junior. This is my second year with the Drama club."

Taylor smiled, nodding as she spoke and interjecting. "Kara is also our stage manager for this production."

"Shann Tone, hi everybody! I'm a senior this year. This is my first year with the Drama Club." The overly enthusiastic girl took her seat, smiling brightly to Taylor.

Taylor nodded nervously, her eyes landing on the last person to go, Adagio, who had naturally slunk down in his seat. The teenager stood, tightening his ponytail and turning to the others in the room.

"I'm Adagio DiVagleo; junior this year. This is my third year with the Drama club."

Taylor grinned brightly, adding on, "Adagio is our fine arts liaison this year. Okay, now that we have introductions out of the way, let's get on to-"

"Sorry I am late guys. I hope you didn't wait up for me," a voice seeped through to the club. Taylor gasped, turning around and placing down her expo marker. Her brown, short locks fell into her face, her hands clawed open.

"M-Mr. McClean, what are you doing here? I was expecting our new advisor."

Chris smiled cheekily, placing his hands behind him and shutting his eyes. Of course the students' new principal would adduce himself in such a way that reeked of hormonal-like arrogance.

He paused dramatically for a brief moment before gesturing to himself with his hands.

"You're looking at him." It took Taylor too long to process the information. She looked up to him as if he was speaking gibberish, her tone confused but blunt.

"You Mr. McClean? Don't you need a degree for that?" Taylor shot to cover her mouth dishonorably, refusing to meet gazes with the older man.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that."

Chris shrugged nonchalantly, stepping further into the room.

"This is a nice little setup you guys got going on here." Many scoffs and whispers of disapproval easily surfaced amongst the students in no time whatsoever. From just the first week as principal, Chris already managed to carry about a negative stigma.

"Okay, okay. Calm down with the commotion. I'll explain." He stalked over to where Taylor previously stood, setting himself down on the brim of the stage, his legs dangling due to his unimpressive height.

Taylor crossed her arms across her torso, looking down to the scratched wood of the stage. Ms. O'Halloran could have at least provided the students with a decent warning before she threw a barely experienced man to handle such a prestigious institution of drama history, built up over decades and decades of actors. This was the best that they could give her? This was the man she had to work with to direct the upcoming productions? She thought she deserved a bit more respect.

"Kids, I know this is very shocking for you. You just recently lost Ms. VanDyke in a- um, very unfortunate accident. It's tough dealing with those kinds of things. I know she was a teacher you kids held dearly in your hearts. So, when Ms. O'Halloran told me that you guys were in need of a new advisor, I just had to jump at the chance!" He jumped down slyly from his position on the stage, barely landing on his own too feet.

"Trust me," He jutted a finger in his direction. "There is no one in this school who knows drama better than me." He didn't wait for a reaction from the dazed set of children. He had made himself clear. This was the way things were going to be whether they liked it or not. "So what are we talking about?"

Taylor cleared her throat, trying desperately to regain her composure. She sets her fingers back upon the blue expo marker, and begins to write. The finished product on the white board reads brazenly, 'The Lost Boy'.

"The Lost Boy is the name of our Fall production. Is there anyone here who doesn't know what this is about?"

The majority of hands rose, outstretched profoundly to the sky. Taylor's eyebrows furrowed together in a state of timidity. She attempted a crooked smile at the crowd, hoping for a more advantageous response.

"I suppose I will provide an overall synopsis. The Lost Boy is a play about a famous and successful writer named James M. Barrie, who is dissatisfied with his work and life. He returns to his hometown in Scotland to revisit his mother who still blames him for the death of his older brother in a skating pond. H-"

"Oh, very angsty," Chris interrupted. The way the older man sat was fantastical-like. His chiseled jawline rested between the palms of his hands, and his feet resided in the air, kicking around ever so distractingly. His behavior could rival a small child's.

Taylor cringed, pinching the bridge of her freckled nose.

"Yes, continuing on. Haunted by the tragic accident and his mother's grating words, James slowly begins to confront his family's tragic past with the help of an unexpected visitor. It's a fictionalized account of the birth of Peter Pan."

A collection of murmurs surfaced amongst the group, most approving.

"Auditions-" Taylor started.

"Auditions will be in one week. And, they will be mandatory for everyone in the club." Chris interrupted.

Taylor clasped a piece of her hair, turning to the man in shock. Why did he assist on asserting absolute power? Ms. VanDyke was pretty rough, but at least she wasn't a control freak.

"Mr. McLean, what do you mean auditions are mandatory? You can't just- just force people to audition. We're not all actors in here."

Chris nodded hastily, shutting his eyes forward to the students. He had only caught a glimpse of what Taylor had been rambling on about.

"Well Suzy-" he began.

"It's Taylor,"

"Tyler, I believe that as a director, I should be able to choose my actors from a large pool of people. I should be the one to say who is an actor or not. Besides, there's only a handful of you. If a portion of this club auditions, I have no choice but to cast whoever shows up. Do you know how pathetic that is? I-"

Taylor held up an impatient hand.

"I understand Mr. McLean. But, as co-director I feel that-"

"Co-director? Oh, I didn't talk to you about that yet?" Taylor gave him a suspicious look, raising a dark eyebrow at him. Her brown eyes lit up.

"I'm sorry Tamara-"

"It's Taylor,"

"But I'm going to have to suspend your status as co-director this year."

Taylor blushed deeply, embarrassed that he was announcing this news amongst the whole club. She started, baffled at the principal's words.

"B-but Mr. McLean, why would you do that? President of the Drama club is always co-director to the advisor. You can't just do that!"

Chris nodded almost comically, having to suppress a snort. His raven bangs fell criminally over his soulless eyes.

"The thing is, I come with my own team. The Chris McLean experience is a package deal, yeah? I already have an assistant director."

Taylor crossed her arms infuriated over her chest, her innocent demeanor quickly fading to squabbles.

"And who exactly is that?"

"Chef Hatchet." Taylor felt herself begin to lose control. She started to chuckle mockingly. Chef. Hatchet? Was he really about to replace her with Chef Hatchet?

"You mean the gym teacher? Wh-What does he possibly know about theatre?"

Chris put his hands up defensively.

"Hey, Chef Hatchet was a star back in college. You know, he was the donkey in that one popular play. Ah, what'cha ma call it... A PreWinter Morning's Nightmare!"

Taylor rolled her eyes mock-fully. She couldn't believe the faith of her beloved club rested in the hands of this man.

"You mean A MidSummer Night's Dream?"

Chris turned his head away unfazed. "Exactly."

"You know what? Fine, go ahead. Take over the club! See if I care. It seems that you'll have no problem running it by yourself!" With that, the young adult stormed out of the miniature theatre, slamming the door aggressively behind her.

"Hm, well it looks like we'll be holding elections for a new president, then." Chris laughed.

He made his way towards center stage, bathing in the gazes of the different children.

"So, about auditions. Prepare your own monologue. I'm not too picky. Just keep it fresh, and impress me. This meeting is now adjourned." He offered the children his signature smile before walking off with a phone pressed tightly to his left ear.

Claira looked over at Dove unimpressed and full with uncertainty.

"So, what are you going to audition with?" she started. She placed her tan hands on her lap neatly and sweetly, turning to her friend.

Dove shrugged, her eyes tracing over to the door. The last thing currently on her mind, was what monologue she would choose for auditions. She would have to deal with that later. But judging by Claira's tone, the least she could do was show some stimulation.

"Um, I really don't know. Hey, do you want to come to the library with me and brainstorm some ideas? I don't think they close until 3:30 today."

Claira nodded, a blue colored extension falling into her face.

"Of course Dove! Although we'd have to wait for Smith until the Art Club meeting is over."

"Of shoot! Is art club today too? I was hoping to join this year," Dove explained.

Claira went to touch her friend's shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly.

"I'm sure they haven't started yet. You can still make it."

Dove nodded, picking up her purple book-bag and walking up the short stairs of the stage to the door. She gestured to Claira, waiting for her in place before the two girls parted ways.

Adagio collected his things quickly from the small metal seat. His pink tongue played with the gleaming piercing on his bottom lip, flicking it insecurely. He had been just about done with this day. First, he gets his phone taken away in Chemistry. Then, Mr. Phils decides it was a dandy day to give a pop quiz on limits in Calculus. And now Chris McLean is the advisor of Drama club. The twist and turns of high-school truly are beautiful things.

"Adagio, you're heading to art club right?" Kara's voice resonated from behind him.

He whipped his head around, the dyed tips of his bangs falling into his eyes. Adagio blinked, running a copper complexioned hand over his hair, and pushing his hair aside so that he could get a good look of the blonde.

"Yes, why'd you ask?"

Kara scribbled something down in her notepad before looking back up at him.

"If you don't mind, could you get the word out about joining stage crew this year? We could use a lot of talent to paint and construct the set and we're a pretty small unit this year."

Adagio thought for a moment, nodding haltingly to her.

"Yeah, sure."

Kara's lips curled into a smile.

"Cool, thanks a bunch."

And then she was off.

Adagio sighed, puffing out a tired breath from his system before throwing his arms through the straps of his back-pack. He paced up the stairs to the stage and through the door, out into the slanted slope of a hallway.

* * *

 **Time: 2:34 p.m.**

 **Place: West Wing; Art Room**

* * *

The room was a nice little capacity of everything that could have possibly pronounced art. Colored splatter walls, with exceptional student work lined up adjacent to one another. To the side, a teacher's desk and classic Dell computer next to it. Each set of student seats resembled the set up in the cooking rooms. Worn down lab tables seating two people per stretch. Against one side of the wall, an assortment of acrylic, oil and watercolor paintings strewn into their own subsections. On the opposite side of the room, an organization of sketches took residence. The room wreaked of a mixture of drying paint and clay.

Forsythia hurried over into the room as soon as she alleviated herself from the Drama club meeting. Her pace was swift but cautious as to not collide with any unsuspecting passerbys.

Her lips curled graciously into a smile, finding the room with ease. For her first week at a new school, she was doing very well with utilizing her sense of direction.

"Forsythia!" she heard a voice call out from inside. In no time, a red-headed girl approached her, dried up sky blue colored paint on the tips of her fingers.

Forsythia lit up, placing two firm clothed gloves on her hips and smiling.

"Smith, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn't excepting to see you here."

Smith smiled.

"Me? How about you? I would have never struck you as the artist type of girl."

Forsythia's smile dropped slightly. She furrowed her dark eyebrows at the girl, slightly offended. "And why is that?"

Smith began to chuckle, but upon seeing that Forsythia was not laughing with her, ceased her enjoyment.

"Oh no! I didn't mean it that way. Just, you know with those artist stereotypes, the messy, rebellious misunderstood kind of teenagers... don't worry about it! I can totally see you as an artist!"

Forsythia quickly smiled with ease. "I understand what you meant." Her smile was almost uncharacteristically contagious. Smith beamed in return.

"Well, why are you so happy today?"

Forsythia concentrated her colored orbs on the girl, grabbing Smith's hands in hers, and grasping them excitingly.

"Oh Smith! I'm going to audition for the school play!"

Smith nodded excitingly. "Wowzers! What play are you guys doing?"

"The Lost Boy." Forsythia gestured grandly with her hands in front of Smith, her eyes shut tightly.

"The Lost Boy? You mean that adaptation of Peter Pan? That's hella cool! Who do you hope to play?"

Forsythia pried her eyes wide open, looking to Smith in question. She straightened out her white blouse, and rubbed her gloved hands together.

"Well, I've never really read it. It's a little too modern for my taste, but of course there must be a leading lady. Now, my question to you, why are your hands covered in paint?"

Smith shrugged nonchalantly. "I had art last period, so I just stayed here and decided to work on my project for good old Ms. Kizzek."

Smith chuckled, setting her head down as Forsythia looked at her. She took no note to her comment about her art class, but instead shifted the conversation's subject back to herself.

"Ooh, want to help me run over monologues after the meeting?"

Smith gave her a crooked smile, "Sure 'Syth! Maybe I'll sign up for stage crew. You want to take a seat with me?"

Forsythia said nothing but followed her to a lab table in the front.

"Grace, you didn't have to go through all this trouble," a voice entered the room.

Grace laughed, her dark blue eyes cheerful.

"I told you, it's no problem Sophia. I knew you would be hesitant if you were to come alone. It's hard being the new kid."

Sophia nodded, a light blush growing on her cheeks. She nodded slowly.

"Thanks for looking out." Her voice grew shy. "Are you interested in art by any chance?"

Grace shook her head, looking down to the floor. "Art really isn't my forte, but it's something I appreciate." She paused, speaking up again when Sophia didn't deliver her an answer. "Anyway, I would love to stay and support you but I have to head off home. Will you be okay?"

Sophia smiled cheekily. "I will." She spreads out her arms, engulfing Grace into a large hug. She isn't sure if she has out stepped her boundaries, after only knowing the girl for a week, but decided it was the appropriate thing to do.

Grace blushed, hugging the girl back. Soon enough she retracted from Sophia's embrace and smiled. "I'll see you later Soph. Have fun!"

Sophia waved back. Her breath became choppy when she entered the room, the strong scent of paint overtaking her senses. She straightened her spine, placing a nervous smile on her face and took a seat just as Dove rushed in to the room. She took a seat next to Sophia, frantically patting down her unruly curly hair. Dove offered a small wave to Sophia, who returned it happily.

Scar entered the art room with Samantha, his headphones draped around his neck rather than over his ears.

"So, what I was saying. I think that if you mix those two tracks together, you can get that dynamic mashup you've been looking for."

Samantha's lips curled into a smirk, taking Scar's headphones off of his neck and bringing them closer too her ear. She bumped her head slightly to the music, a satisfied smile on her face.

"I think it's pretty solid. If you bring it to the next Glee club meeting, we can-"

Samantha felt a light tap on her shoulder. She whips around, her long black hair taking a loop with her.

"Oh, hey DiVagleo, how's it been going?" Her smile was sarcastic but energetic .

"Terrafino," he nodded in acknowledgement. "Don't you think it's about time we start the meeting?"

Samantha's blue eyes widened. "What happened to Ms. Kizzek?"

"She had to leave early. She had a family commitment."

Samantha nodded, clasping her hands together and cracking her knuckles loudly in Adagio's ears.

"Well, let's not keep the people waiting then. We'll talk more about this later, Scar." She didn't wait for Adagio's response. The girl took two neatly sharpened pencils off of Ms. Kizzek's desk. She didn't waste time clanking them together loudly, catching the attention of the inhabitants in the room.

"Okay," she said, throwing the pencils down carelessly. "Welcome to the first Art Club meeting of the school year!" There was a series of applause that followed her short introduction.

"Now presenting our esteemed president, Mr. Adagio DiVagleo!" Samantha cheered dramatically. She outstretched her arms to him as if he was some kind of grand prize that someone had just won off of a game show.

Adagio mentally face palmed, taking center stage in front of the classroom. He was tired of introductions.

"Thanks for that completely necessary introduction Sam. So as just announced, my name is Adagio. I have a quick announcement before we go over our syllabus. The Drama club is once again asking the Art club to assist in the production of the set. We could use a lot of artistic hands on deck to help out. There's a sign up sheet outside of the drama room if anyone is interested. Now, because it is the first meeting, we won't overwhelm you guys with work. Our Vice President, Sam, will like to talk about some of our planned events for this year."

Adagio stepped down, handing the attention back over to Samantha as she started her portion of the meeting.

* * *

 **Time: 2:50 p.m.**

 **Place: South Wing; Little Theatre Rm 1134**

* * *

Sophia stared down the blank spaces of the sign up sheet. On the top of the flimsy piece of paper, in black sharpie marker, 'Stage Crew'. She breathed, running her fingers through her brown curly hair. There were only three names scribbled down, the first being 'Scar Xaren', the second, 'Smith Albert ' and the third, 'Assy McGee'. Okay scratch that, only two names that were _real_ , scribbled down. Sophia scavenged into her backpack for a black ink pen. She was going to do it. She was going to sign up for a new club, in a new school, and meet new people, and- oh boy. The thought was overwhelming. She was never one to easily accept change.

"Hi, are you considering signing up for stage crew?"

Sophia jumped, startled by the feminine voice. She almost dropped her pen.

"Oh, hi." She was met face to face with an enthusiastic blonde, her lengthy hair tied up into a high ponytail. Sophia shrugged sheepishly at the presumably upper classman.

"Um, yeah. I was considering it."

The blonde nodded back, her green eyes lighting up.

"Well, I think you should do it. We could use the extra help. As you can see," she gestured to the sign up board, "We're not doing too well. I'm sorry if I startled you." She extended her hand out to her.

"I'm Kara by the way."

"Sophia." She took the other girl's hand into her own.

Kara smiled, nodding slowly to her.

"I hope you decide to sign up Sophia. It's tons of fun." Kara gave her a friendly smile before walking off and up into the hall.

Sophia grinned, gracing her fluid ballpoint pen over the sheet, her name scrawled neatly in cursive. Grace would be so proud. She gave her signature an approving nod before strapping her backpack over her shoulders and walking off into the same direction that of Kara's. Maybe change wouldn't be so bad after-all.

* * *

 **Date: Wednesday, September 29**

 **Time: 2:30 p.m.**

 **Place: South Wing; Little Theatre Rm 1134**

* * *

Chris adjusted a red beret atop of his head, as well as a pair of dark shades. This was it. The most grueling process of theatre. Auditions. Chris was soaking up every blood-pumping moment. He turned to his co-worker, smiling brightly to him.

"Alright Chef, start sending them in." Chris gestured to the door, his compliance getting up to unwilling signal the student with control of the list . The blonde student took a minute to scan the names, squinting at the first one scribbled in slot number one.

"Ah- well this can't be right... whatever, Forsythia Ainsworth, you're up!" he screeched into the hall.

Forsythia who was with Smith who had come for moral support, grinned uncontrollably, grabbing on to Smith's hands.

"Ooh, I'm up Smith. Wish me luck!"

Smith smiled. "You're going to be fine 'Syth. Plus, if you don't make it, you can always sign up for stage-crew with me. At least you don't have to audition for that."

Forsythia nodded, not really taking in Smith's words but still being conscious of them.

The girl rushed off to the door that Chef held open for her. She took a minute to compose herself, clearing her throat in the process and stepping in on stage with grace and confidence.

Chris smiled at the girl. Well this was certainly an odd piece. She definitely was dramatic with her sense of fashion, that's for sure.

Forsythia curtseyed, her left leg crossing in front of the right.

"Good evening Mr. McLean, my name is Forsythia Ainsworth."

Chris grinned awkwardly, shuffling his papers together as a distraction.

"Welcome, Forsythia. What are you going to be performing for us today?"

She stood at full height, her sunhat giving off a taller appearance than her actuality.

"I will be performing one of my favorite monologues from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream."

"Oh, the play that Chef was in! Very nice."

Chef gave Chris an awful glare, transforming his eyes into slits.

Chris cleared his throat, turning back to Forsythia. "I'm ready when you are."

Forsythia grinned, turning her back to him, standing up straight and facing the wall. She was in this position for at least fifteen seconds.

"Uh- Are you alright? We kind of need to get this g-"

The girl turned to face him dramatically as the words rolled out of her mouth with ease, an arm draped perilously over her forehead. Her stance was almost ballerina like.

"How happy some o'er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; he will not know what all but he do know. And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes, so I, admiring of his qualities. Things base and vile, folding no quantity. Live can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind, nor hath love's mind of any judgement taste."

Forsythia paused, walking to the left of the stage. Her eyes concentrated on the floor, droopy and regretful.

"Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste. And therefore is love said to be a child, because in choice he is so oft beguiled."

Her voice became more coarse.

"As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, so the boy love is perjured every where. For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne, he hail'd down oaths that he was only mine. And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt, so he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt. I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight."

Her hand outstretched boldly to the imaginary audience, instead of focusing on the ground, she held her head up high.

"Then to the wood will he to-morrow night pursue her, and for this intelligence if I have thanks it is a dear expense. But herein mean I to enrich my pain, to have his sight thither and back again. And scene."

As Forsythia finished up, she looked eagerly to Chris.

"Well, what do you think?"

Chris grinned nervously.

"Forsythia I-"

"It was beautiful!" Chef outbursts from his seat. He buried his head in the crook of Chris' neck, sobbing generously.

Chris, disgusted, pushed Chef off of him, the other man landing on the table, head down and sobbing.

"Come on Chef. Keep it together, jeez." His tone was harsh and unsympathetic.

"Anyway, Forsythia is it? Even though I couldn't understand a single word you said, it sure as hell sounded good."

"Why thank you Mr. McLean." She didn't take the slightest bit of offense to the comment. Shakespeare was definitely a tough nut to crack.

"Although you do know, this is not a Shakespearean play. This play uses modern dialect."

Forsythia's cheeks lit up, suddenly becoming embarrassed at his words.

"Yes, I am aware. I just thought that a classic Shakespearean monologue would fit me best for this audition. If you'd like, I can try something else. Perhaps something from the eighteenth century would more fit your taste."

"That won't be necessary. Thank you for auditioning. Next!"

Forsythia looked taken aback.

"B-but-"

"That's all we need to see Ms.-" Chris paused to examine the sign in sheet.

"Ms. Ainsworth."

Forsythia frowned, leaving in a huff. "This isn't the last you've heard of me," she warned before slamming the door behind her.

"Chef, tell the student outside to call whoever is next on the list."

Chef who had regained his composure sighed, walking out into the hallway to tap the shoulder of the blonde boy who was in possession of the master list.

"Stoner Charlie, you're up!"

Chris had to contain himself from laughing at the name.

As the boy walked in, Chris could see why he had the name he had. The boy walked with a permanent slouch. His clothes reeked of burnt cigarette stench. He wore a knotty purple beanie to cover his light brown bowl haircut. He grimaced at his hygiene, or lack thereof.

"Hey dudes, my name is Stoner Charlie."

Chef interjected.

"So you mean to tell me that your first name is Stoner?"

The boy snorted, crossing his arms vainly over himself and speaking back with the same tone.

"So you mean to tell me that your first name is Chef?"

Chef paused for a moment. He nodded his head before sinking back into his seat.

"Touché," he mumbled.

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, careful not to obstruct the position of his tacky sunglasses.

"Alright, so what are you going to perform for us today, Stoner?"

"Yeah, I prefer Charlie. So this is from... a play called Glengarry Glen Ross. Yeah, it's, it's good." He spoke slowly as if he was in a daze. Chris couldn't help but feel extremely awkward speaking to him.

He started off immediately, pointing a lazy finger at Chris to 'enhance his performance'.

"You stupid fucking cunt." Maybe not the best words to start off with. Chris and Chef exchanged a shock glance.

"You, Wiliamson. I'm talking to you, shithead. You just cost me... cost me six thousand dollars. Six thousand dollars and one, one Cadillac. That's right." He struggled to find balance in his words.

"What are you gonna do about it? What are you gonna do about it, asshole? You're fucking shit. Where did you learn your trade, ya stupid fucking cunt? You idiot. Who ever told you that you could work with men? Oh- oh I- I'm gonna have your job, shithead. I'm going downtown, I'm gonna talk to Mitch and Murray. Yeah that's right..."

He paused, trying to remember the rest.

"Um, are you d-" Chris started.

He continued right on ahead.

"I'm going to Lempkin! I don't care who's nephew you are, who you know, whose dick you're sucking on. You're going out. I swear to you, you're going out!"

Chris put his hand up brashly.

"Okay, that's enough."

Stoner Charlie looked appalled.

"What? I didn't even get to the good part," he whined. Chris shook his head frantically.

"No! That's all I needed to hear. Wow, that sure was something... something special."

Stoner Charlie smiled obliviously, taking pride in his work.

"So you digged it huh?"

Chris tore a piece of paper off from what was resting on his clip board.

"Well, you see what I'm going to do right now..." he spoke as he scribbled. "...is write you this referral note to the school's guidance counselor. I think you two need to have a good one on one chat, yeah? Well, you go do that while I bring in the next person."

Stoner Charlie gave him a sour look before storming out. Chris turned to Chef immediately, letting out a nervous laugh.

"Wow, what a nut. Am I right? We can cross that one off of our list. Alright, bring in the next victim Chef."

Chef grumbled, going to give the boy outside a thumbs up of approval, signaling that the two were ready for the next candidate.

"Dove Jonas, you're up."

Dove steadied herself before stepping into the room. She waved shyly at the two-person panel before beginning.

"Hey, how are you? I'm Dove Jonas." She straightened out her long, floral skirt.

"Dove." Chris repeated. "What are you going to recite for us today?"

"A monologue from "Bargaining". I hope you enjoy."

She readies herself, planting her two feet firmly on the ground. Her approach was similar to Stoner Charlie's. She looked straight at Chris, establishing an actor-audience connection.

"Ryan, there's something I have to tell you." There was a long, dramatic pause. "I was born in 1931. I never lied to you, I am 23. But I've been 23 since the year 1954. I know, I know. It's impossible, right? No one lives forever? But, sometimes they do. In 1953, I got married. A few weeks after the wedding, I suddenly fell ill. My husband took me to a hospital. I was there for almost a week. I was in so much pain. And no one could say for sure what was wrong. One night, in the hospital, a stranger came to see me. He told me, "Jamie, you're going to die tomorrow." That was my name then, the name I was born with." She walks further down the stage.

"This man, the stranger, he offered me a chance to live forever. He said, "You can die tomorrow, or you can live forever. Stay young forever." Well of course, I don't believe in the devil anymore. There are powerful beings on this earth, but man created Satan. And God, for that matter. My point is, this man offered me a chance to live. And I took it." Dove transformed her body language to be more strong.

"I will live forever. I will never age. I cannot be harmed, not physically. I can't be hurt by bullets, or knives, or fire, or even explosions. I can't be hurt by diseases - in fact, I can't even catch a cold. When my husband was forty-five, he died in a car accident. At his funeral, the stranger came to see me again. He asked me if I wanted to... give up my gift, and... die. I thought about it. But I said, no. I wasn't ready. I knew there was more for me. I have centuries and centuries ahead of me. These first hundred years... are like a drop in the ocean..."

Dove sits herself on the edge of the stage, looking out into nothingness in a reminiscent way.

"My husband never knew about me, and he didn't have a choice. I don't want to go through that again. I don't want to fall in love again for twenty years. Twenty years is... gone in the blink of an eye. I'm looking for someone to love forever. Most people, when they say forever, they mean... well, they don't really mean forever. But I do. I'm in love with you, Ryan. And I'm asking you to share forever with me."

When her monologue ended, Chef was quick to clap.

"That was great! And I don't say that much."

Dove smiled excited, clasping her hands together.

"Wow, really? Thanks! I worked on it all week. You really liked it?"

Chris nodded slowly, trying his best to look professional.

"It was certainly riveting. You have a lot of flare to you Dove. It's refreshing. Thank you for coming in today."

Dove grinned cooly.

"No, thank you for having me McLean."

With that she exited the room, regrouping with Claira, who was next up.

Claira rushed over to Dove who was anxiously awaiting her arrival. Her dark blue eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Dove, how did it go? Were you nervous? Did they yell?"

Dove chuckled, trying to shake off Claira's insecurities.

"No, Claira. You might get some butterflies when you first get up there, but it'll be fine. Just find confidence in yourself, and they'll find confidence in you. I promise."

Claira nodded, a bead of sweat growing on her forehead. "Are you sure? I think my piece might be a little too dark."

"For this play? Definitely not. Trust me Claira, you're going to nail it."

"Claira Wilson," the blonde boy called into the hallway.

"Oh, here I go. Wish me luck Dove!"

She bounced into the room with energy. Chris stared at her immediately as soon as she made her presence known. He raised an eyebrow at her, and suddenly Claira began to feel embarrassed. She tried to stabilize herself.

"Uh, hi my name is Claira Wilson. And, uh, my piece-" Her binder dropped to the floor, making an obnoxious echo as the plastic made contact with the wood. She clasped her hands to her chest as a response to the dilema

"Oh gosh. I am so sorry! Please, allow me to start over. I'm usually not this nervous."

Chris said nothing, but wrote notes on his clipboard.

Claira tried to steady herself again.

"My monologue is a piece taken from a play entitled, "And Turning, Stay." Claira took a deep breath. Just as Dove said, she just needed to be confident in herself.

She separated her words, taking a long pause before starting.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!"

Her harsh but broken tone caught Chris' attention. He seized to doodle on his board, and instead trained his eyes on her.

"And don't tell me you're sorry! And don't tell me to forget it, and don't you dare tell me to "let it go." God knows, I'd like to. I wish I could, but I can't! I can't forget that we had something, and you're running away. You're running away! Don't you see Mark? You're running from what I've searched for all my life! Why?"

She didn't look at Chris, but instead looked ahead of her at a poster that read, "Drama is life with the dull bits cut out. - Alfred Hitchcock"

Claira continued.

"Because you're scared? Well, I'm scared too, but you and I - we have something worth fighting for. We could make it work, I'm not saying it would be easy, but I care about you."

Claira paused, tears beginning to prick her eyes. She subconsciously grasped for the locket on her neck, squeezing it tightly. Her head hung to the ground. They couldn't see her cry. She needed to get it together.

"And I know deep down, under this bravado, you care about me. And that's what it's all about, Mark, don't you get it? It's the human experience. You can pretend all you want, but you're only lying to yourself. You're denying the simple and wonderful fact that you are emotional, and vulnerable, and alive."

Claira spread her arms wide open. She wasn't at the audition anymore. She saw herself. She saw herself standing in front of the jail cell, pleading to her broken embodiment. Claira knows she did it for her, that's what hurts the most.

"Can you honestly stand there and tell me that I mean nothing to you? That everything that happened that night was a lie? That you feel nothing? I feel sorry for you, Mark. I'll move on. I'll find someone else. I'll be all right, because I will know that I tried. That I did everything I could. But someday you will look back, and you will realize what you threw away. And you will regret it always."

Hot tears rolled down Claira's cheeks, and stained the wood floor.

Chris started. "Ms. Wilson, you-"

It was too late. Claira had already ran out of there, and into the drama hallway, throwing herself into the corner of the hallway.

"Claira!" Dove screeched. "Are you okay? Did they yell at you? What-"

"I- I need to go Dove. I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have auditioned for this. I just don't want to disappoint you." She rushed off as fast as her small legs could carry her, leaving Dove to see her off.

Adagio watched the girl run off past him. She almost knocked him over, despite how petite she was, running into his shoulder. He quickly regained his balance, continuing his trek down the Drama hallway.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tight. He had gotten a massive headache in Chemistry class, and it hadn't gone away since then. If anything, his condition had worsened since then. Adagio approached the boy standing outside of the audition door. A clipboard rested contently in his hand. He seemed to have been doodling on the next page.

Adagio stuffed his hands inside of his pockets. He leaned over into his personal space, eyeing the list skeptically. He saw his name in slot number sixteen.

"Brady, what number are we on?"

The blonde boy looked at him, his eyebrows raised as he popped his blueberry gum in his face. Adagio winced, his headache only increasing.

"We just finished number four," he mumbled.

Adagio groaned. He couldn't wait that long. The pain was driving him off the edge. All he wanted was to get his audition over with and for once, head home so he could pass out in the sheets of his bed.

"What do I have to do to get myself higher on that list?" he mumbled harshly.

Brady smirked, a laugh playing on his lips.

"No can do. You'll just have to wait your turn like everyone-"

Adagio quickly bulled a fresh twenty dollar bill from his wallet, waving it tauntingly in the boy's face.

Brady snatched the dollar from his grasp, eyeing its authenticity by holding it up to the bright light. He grinned, satisfied with the terms of agreement.

"Looks like you're next DiVagleo," he said smugly.

Adagio nodded, leaning his physique against the door next to Brady. When an upset scrawny boy rushed out from the room, Adagio headed in. He took presence on stage, looking to Chris as if he expected him to say something.

"And you are?" Chris didn't bother to look up. He was too busy fixing his beret upon his head.

"Adagio DiVagleo."

Chris nodded slowly, his elbows resting on top of the table.

"Hm, and what are you going to be performing for us today?"

"This is a selection from the Fall play last year. It was a tragedy called 'The Casual Descent'."

Chris looked on, trying to sound interested.

"Oh, who wrote it?"

Adagio shrugged nonchalantly. "I did."

Chris' interest was peaked suddenly. He folded his arms over the table.

"You don't say... Well let's see what you've got." He leaned back into his chair, propping two feet up on the table and two hands intertwined behind his head.

Adagio nodded, preparing himself for his presentation.

"Stop saying that you forgive me!" His voice was immediately strong and convincing right off the bat. Both Chris and Chef looked up to him, in the similar way that they stared at Claira.

"I... I don't understand anymore. From the minute I was born you told me that I was something special, that there wasn't anything I could ever do that would make you stop loving me. Every time I was sad that I couldn't be like you, you told me that you didn't make mistakes. Well here I am, clawing at the recesses of the heart that you gave me looking for what's right, and you act like I'm evil for listening!" His eyes are full of hurt.

"You say you can see everything, so look at what your so-called children will do to each other. They never had a chance, did they? They'll leave that gilded prison you have them and they'll rob, maim, and kill each other and somehow, someway, it'll be my fault! I'll be their scapegoat because you told them I'm something to be afraid of, and I don't know why. I don't know what I did wrong, what I did to deserve this. I listened to the heart that you gave me, obeyed the every impulse you put in me. I did everything right, only to find out that the only reason you, my entire world, my father, only wanted me is so I could scare a bunch of souls to you when you're the one who views them as disposable." He pauses to clench his first, his knuckles turning white.

"Well I'm not play anymore. So you can rip off my wings, fling me as far away from you as you can, as far as the east is from the west, but I'll never be what you want me to be. Because no matter what you do to me, or do to them and then tack the fault to my name, I will never stop loving you. And you will always, always, be my father."

Chris looked appalled, genuinely impressed at the teenager's performance.

"Adagio, you actually wrote this. This is..." he trails for a moment, placing a chin on his finger. "This is very impressive. And your acting isn't half bad either." For once, Chris sounded to be the most palpable he's been all day.

"What was last year's play even about?" Chef pitched in.

Adagio looked to him, the silver buttons on his vest producing a glare.

"It's a play from Satan's point of view on his fall from grace and the Fall of Man. Satan is the hero, desperately in love with Adam, who wished to free him, Eve, and substantially all of humanity from an eternity of blissful ignorance, knowing full well that once they know the difference between good and evil, they'll hate him. What you just heard, is Satan's monologue from the finale."

Chris nodded his head slowly as Adagio spoke.

"Very edgy for a high-school play. I love it. You know, you can really make a name out there for yourself kid," he expressed.

His words were so slow. Adagio may have been convinced that they were true, if they weren't coming from Chris McLean. The sole man in history to star in three consecutive movies to get a landslide 0% rating on Rotten Tomatos. Adagio quickly averted his eyes to the door. His headache was pounding against his skull even harder as if it was begging to crawl into his brain. He needed to rest.

"Thank you for your time," he mumbled as he walked out into the hallway. The door unintentionally slammed behind him. His legs were weak as he came to face the other jittery candidates. Some paced around the hallway, wringing their hands together in a pursuit to remember the lines. Some ran their eyes over the words of their printed out versions, feet tapping to an imaginary beat on the unkempt floor.

Adagio groaned, throwing his back against the wall. He slunk down to the floor, his knees hugging his chest. His breath became choppy.

"Hey, you alright DiVagleo?" Brady muttered softly to him from his stance. Brady popped his blueberry flavored gum once again.

Adagio ran his fingers through a tousle of charcoal hair. He didn't bother to look up at the blue eyed boy, but instead focused his catty eyes on the pale plaster of the wall.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled.

* * *

 **Date: Thursday, September 30**

 **Time: 11:45 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; School Library**

* * *

The two stared at each other, nothing but two pairs of identical eyes looking back at each other. It was like looking into a mirror, a reflection copying her every move. When she blinked, the other blinked too. Even the slightest tilt of the head was undistinguishable to perfection. The orange on her jumpsuit mixed together monstrously with the worn out blonde. Her silence was torturous. The foul scent of the vastness. The rough jingle of loose medal.

The hurt in her eyes.

"Claira, Claira, the list is up!"

The sound of police sirens flooded the scenery. Bright blue and red lights encircling periodically against a dusky sky.

"Claira!"

"Huh?" Her blue orbs shot open, her vision clouding into focus.

"Dove?" Her hand shot onto her head to pat down her hair. The room seemed to be spinning.

"Claira, you fell asleep in the library. Are you okay?" Her voice laced with sincere concern.

Claira nodded, sitting up from the keyboard where she rested her head. Her unfinished English essay was up on the screen where she stopped typing consciously, "In conclusion, the motif of totalitarianism highlighted inrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr".

The series of r's must have come from the key that she laid on. Claira blushed embarrassedly, deleting the r's in her essay, and saving her progress from there. She looked up to Dove after shutting down the computer, smiling shyly.

"The cast list is up? Did you go check?" An army of moths chewed at her stomach lining.

Dove shook her head.

"No, I heard from Samuel, who heard from Andrei, who heard from Brady that Mr. McLean posted the list this morning. I didn't want to check it without you," Dove explained.

Claira smiled, standing up from her seat and grasping her books inside of her hands.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go."

As the two headed down the stairs and to the Drama room, Claira could feel her heart beat faster and faster. She had run out of the room at the end of her audition. She didn't even get to hear her feedback. She hoped that her actions didn't affect the casting decision.

"Okay, here we are. Ooh! I can't even look! Claira, you have to look for me!" Dove squealed.

Claira smiled weakly, approaching the list. This was it. Just do it.

Claira scanned the list, looking desperately for her and Dove's name.

She stiffened when she saw hers. Her fingers touched the texture of the paper, scanning across the page to see her role. There in bold letters, it read, 'MAUREEN/WENDY DARLING'. Claira smiled brightly, running to Dove.

"Dove, Dove! I got a part!"

Dove turned from the wall, looking to Claira with excited eyes.

"Yes! Claira, I told you, you would do great!"

Claira grasped her golden locket on her neck and beamed tenderly.

"Yeah, I guess you did. Thank you Dove."

"No problem what so ever. So, um..." she wringed her hands together. "Did you see what part I got?"

Claira gasped, covering her mouth and blushing.

"No, I'm sorry Dove. I was just too excited!"

Dove grinned shyly.

"No, it's okay Clair. I'll check myself."

Dove let out a shaky breath before going to look at the list.

Her name stood out immediately to her as a large smile overwhelmed her.

"Claira! I got in! I did it! I'm Marie Ansel Barrie, whoever that is... ooh, and I'm also Tinkerbell!"

Dove went over to embrace Claira into a hug.

"I'm so happy for you. I'm happy for us."

The two girls laughed together, a new attitude overcoming Claira.

"Oh, Smith, I'm so nervous. I hope I get cast!" A voice entered the scene, the spunky red-head following her.

"C'mon 'Syth. You have to get in! You've been practicing that monologue every day for a week. They'd be insane not to cast you!" Smith's smile was wide and optimistic.

Forsythia didn't answer, but instead clasped her hands together in front of her, approaching the list with urgency. She smiled when she found her name second on the list as the role of 'MARGARET OGILVY BARRIE'.

Smith came up behind her. "Ooh, what a cool name. Who is she?"

Forsythia adjusted herself smugly.

"She's the mother of J.M. Barrie who is the main protagonist. This is so exciting!"

"I told ya you could do it 'Syth!" Smith cheered. "Who's the lead?"

Forsythia shrugged, turning back around to face the fine print.

"Someone named Adagio DiVagleo. Oh, isn't he that broody boy who's president of the Art Club?"

Smith chuckled, crossing her arms over herself. "That's one way to put it. Come on let's go celebrate! We'll get something to eat over at the Loft."

Forsythia looked at the other girl with approval, following after her merrily.

* * *

 **Time: 3:14 p.m.**

 **Place: the DiVagleo Residence**

* * *

Adagio simpered into his parent's manor. The penthouse is empty. The clouds cover the skyline as he plops himself down on the sofa next to the liquor cabinet, his head coming to rest on a fluffed pillow. His muscles relaxed into the couch. Adagio felt a vibrate coming from the charge of his cell phone. He grasped to pull the device out of his pocket, and quickly tapped its screen to see a text from Eli.

'Hey man, I heard the news. Congrats!'

The fact that Adagio had gotten the part still hadn't completely sinked in. It would be the first production that he would do without him. They were better as a team, no doubt. And although Adagio was skilled in acting, the other was the one to take the stage in last year's production. Now, he was on his own. He wondered how he would do. If he would rise above, or sink under the pressure. He eyed a fresh new bottle of anti-depressants that no doubt, his mother had left ready on the counter for him. Adagio grasped the bottle, ripping the plastic covering off with ease. He twisted the cap to the left, taking out his daily dose while walking over to the liquor cabinet. He took out a half empty bottle, pouring himself a glass to wash down the pills. The bottle clanks against the marble bar counter and Adagio sighs satisfyingly. He presses his fist to his forehead and finishes the bottle in his glass. His stomach churns his inwards, but not enough to affectively faze him. He guides himself to his bedroom, taking another bottle with him and locking the door tight.

The front door to his home opens and he knows he's no longer alone. Clunky, heavy footsteps that he knows all too well makes their way farther into the home. He throws his jacket over the bannister of the bar and he knows Adagio has been there when he searches through the liquor cabinet. He expected this of his son. The older man moans, dragging his feet upstairs. He knocks harshly on his door.

"Adagio, I know you're in there. What happened in school today? Open up."

Adagio shook his head into his pillow.

"I'm okay. Nothing happened." he said bluntly.

Marco gave off a sarcastic laugh.

"It doesn't sound like nothing. I received a call from your principal today to congratulate me on my son's lead roll in the school play. I didn't even know you were auditioning Adagio. I sounded like a babbling fool when Mr. McLean contacted me."

No response.

"You could of at least given me a heads up. I searched the synopsis of the play online. And, I-"

There was a long pause between the two. All Adagio could hear was the shuffling of large feet. He rose his head from the pillow, resting his elbows behind him and starts to stare at the door, waiting for him to speak again. But the words got caught up in his throat.

"You what? Spit it out," he demanded.

"I think. I think it might be a little too tender for you. You're not ready for this."

Adagio clutched the fabric of his pillow. He hated when he did this. He hated when he made assumptions about situations that he knew nothing about. He was too prideful, that was for certain. And Adagio was old enough to make decisions on his own.

"This is really none of your business, Marco. You can't tell me what I can and cannot do."

Marco hugged his body. He felt his nerves convulse in discomfort. He didn't have a good feeling about this. Not in the slightest.

"Is there anything I can say to talk you out of this? You. You're trying to push yourself to do this when you _know_ it will hurt. You're smarter than that Adagio. I know you are."

Adagio puts his hands to his stomach. He feels his insides retch in disgust. He feels defenseless. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the sound of his father's voice that made him sick. But still, he spoke with dogma.

"I can and I will do this. You don't need to worry about me." He groans in pain, clutching the neck of the wine bottle. He takes a hard swig, the alcohol burning his throat on its way down into his system. He's already numb when he hears his father's footsteps get farther and farther away. He can barely hear his mumble when he reaches the end of the hall.

"You're going to regret this."

* * *

 **Date: Monday, October 18**

 **Time: 2:30 p.m.**

 **Place: Auditorium**

* * *

"Remember people, lines for Scene one are due today. We have the set painted, now all we need to do with tech is finalize the audio and affects. Got it stage crew?"

The auditorium was a hustling, bustling construction site. Teams of people traveled together, some sporting gloves, and others covered in sawdust. The sound of a drill pierced easily through the space.

A mumble of understanding from Chris' orders surfaced from the booth, just as Adagio stalked in. Problem is, he was forty-five minutes late. The weekend didn't treat him well. He stayed at home for both days, which was very unusual for him to begin with. If that already wasn't enough torture, his father constantly insisted on harassing him about the play. He dug for more details on his character, and how Mr. McLean planned on directing it. The group had only had three rehearsals previous to this one. But he must admit, they were moving fast. Adagio strategically avoided giving his father too much information. He pushed him to quit, even persuaded his mom to be on his side. But this was something he wanted to do. He sure as hell wasn't going to let the pride of some pretentious man get in the way.

"Ah, Adagio. Nice of you to finally join us." Chris seethed.

"I had something I needed to take care of." The teen mumbled in response. His eyes plastered onto the carpeted floor below.

"I'm sure we all have somewhere we wish we could be."

Adagio stayed silent, not bothering to look him in the eyes.

"We're running over the first scene. I hope you have your lines memorized."

He nodded, making his way up on stage where a small set of nothingness lied. The first scene was reflected so the stage crew made the creative decision to blank everything that wasn't in real present time. Adagio looked to the left of the stage where an assortment of props were waiting for him. The student acting with him in the first scene prepared himself, adjusting his posture, the prop for the Peter Pan hat rested upon his head. He was some kind of method actor, Adagio assumed. One who would use techniques to create in themselves the thoughts and feelings of their character. The hat, was a way to enlist youth into his words and actions. Besides, he was only supposed to be a tiny bit older than six. He was an adolescent freshman, an energized one at that. If there was anyone who could portray this role, it would be him. Adagio stalked over to him, his hands stuffed deep inside of the pockets of his jeans.

"You ready for this Dill?"

Dill beamed, jumping up to full height. "Of course Adagio!"

Adagio attempted a grin, but couldn't muster out one that was nearly convincing. Instead, he pushed past him, taking his starting position off stage. The lights dimmed dramatically to a light hue. The ensemble dressed modernly and professionally took their places on the stage behind the curtain, all striking a pose to start the scene.

"Okay, everyone ready? You better be," Chris' voice amplified. "We're a go in 3...2...1... action!"

The ensemble began. It was 1903. London. A sound of a locomotive. People began to scream.

"Mr. Barrie! Mr. Barrie!" one male yelled out.

"May I have your autograph?" A female voice.

"I saw your last play three times!" Another one.

A student playing the conductor starts to speak. "All aboard!" Adagio steps out. The crowd turns on him.

"Hey where are you going? We're your public!" Adagio who's character could only be described as a small, unattractive, well-dressed, though somewhat disheveled James M. Barrie, the famous Scottish author nervously entered the First Class Department. Adagio checked his prop watch and breathes a sigh of relief that he is on time. The engine whistles, wheels are heard starting up. He takes center stage where a notebook sat atop a desk prop and began to read his newest work aloud to the audience.

"We were alone. I heard the ice crack. It wasn't very loud at first. Then I saw the white lines etch jagged across the pond and my heart flew up into my throat. "Davey!"" Adagio's hands flew up in the air as his voice heightened, before taking a dramatic drop. The pit orchestra followed with a sforzando in their music score.

He continued.

"He heard nothing; only the sound of his skate blades hitting the ice, and the wind blowing through his uncapped hair."

Dill's voice started through a microphone backstage. His tone was childish and carefree.

"Watch my next trick, Jamie, ye'll love this!"

Adagio continued to narrate, startled by the voice.

"On the bank, my panic turned to hysteria. I jumped up and down, over and over, trying to get his attention. My body had taken over my mind and I couldn't think. Hot, salty water came squirting out of my eyes and into my cold blue-lipped mouth and I was shaking like a leaf."

The lights came up on a new set that stage crew had moved into place. This set resembled a skating area. Adagio got up from his seat, exiting stage left to signal his leave from the train and his transformation into his six year old self when everyone used to call him by his nickname, Jamie, instead of his last, Barrie.

Adagio spoke in a childish voice as Dill entered the stage with him.

"Davey! The ice!" Adagio yelled out.

Dill looked back to him, quirkiness and all. "What?"

"It's crackin'! The ice is crackin'!"

Dill shook his head, laughing to Adagio.

"Watch this next jump! Are ye watching?"

Adagio took a step forward, hurt in his eyes.

"Davey! Stop!"

"Look, Jamie, I can fly!"

Adagio turned to the audience, as Sophia focused a spotlight on him from above. He slipped out of the flashback momentarily and back to narration.

"He landed rather awkwardly, but on his feet, and bowed to his audience of one; six year old me. It was then, that the ice gave way. And into the freezing waters my brother plunged. The cold must have hit him like thousands of tiny needles sticking all over his body. He threw himself on a triangular piece of ice, but his weight, and the weight of his soaking clothes were too heavy, and the jagged shard broke and Davey slid once more into the bone-chilling water."

* * *

The manor was a tight, ice box of numbness. Everyone felt numb. The blinds were shut securely so that no speck of light could enter. Mr. DiVagleo shuffled an old stack of photos from when he was in college. An action shot of a well kept, strong, and confident man darting across the field at record speed; his helmet shined to excellence, not a single degrading grass stain on his uniform. A gentle hand graced the skin on his shoulder. The man winced, thinking that _he_ was back for round 2.

A pair of lips moved towards his ear.

"You know, I don't think he's doing too well."

The man darted his eyes to the side, focusing on an old framed family portrait. His eyes lit up with his son's arms flung over his neck, the brightest smile that he could possibly muster.

He doesn't bother to look at his wife when he answers, "Melissa, he'll be fine. He just needs to toughen up and he'll be fine."

She put both hands softly on his shoulders, turning him around to face her.

"Marco, I feel like I'm losing him."

"No one is losing anyone. The boy will be fine. End of conversation."

Marco retracted from his wife's embrace, making his way over to the large, beautiful window pane, the glass shimmering from when the family's housemaid had last polished. He looked out into the view, watching the cars whizz by on the street below him.

"He'll be fine," he whispered to himself.

* * *

Adagio was back in the flashback, feeling a chill run down the back of his spine.

Dill's voice again. "Jamie!"

Adagio snapped out of it, running over to where the prop sheet of ice was, which was really just a convincing looking blanket.

"He's alive! He's alive!" Adagio yelled. There was a certain rawness of happiness to his voice. He summons up the strength of mind to inch his way out onto the ice to save his brother. He carries one ice skate with him. He looks down and helplessly screams in fright.

"Davey! I can see ye!" Adagio projected. He takes a skate and beats on the 'ice' with the point of the blade. Suddenly, he's back in narration. Sophia centered a second spotlight on him, this one brighter than the previous light, that stung Adagio's eyes. He had to shut them for a moment before he began to speak. He stands up from the lake, looking out to the audience.

"But, I'm too small and my arms too weak and the ice too thick and my body's tired to aching; but I won't stop! I have to save him! I scream and chip the ice. I cry and chip the ice. I pray and chip the ice. Davey is trying to find the hole he fell through, but he's lost all sense of direction and the hole isn't where he thought it was. I look again and see his face grow dimmer and smaller as the pond's inky depths engulf him." Adagio's voice cracks before he walks back over to the edge of the lake. Sophia clicks the spotlight off.

"Davey!"

Blackout. A scene change. Lights up on the Barrie kitchen. Stage crew sets the table for breakfast. And Forsythia, dressed in an old-fashioned garb waltzes out with a rag in hand and starts scrubbing the floor. Margaret Ogilvy Barrie is in her late thirties, but looks much older from years of hard labor and bitter disappointment. She moves with efficiency and haste. Adagio enters trying to hold back his tears.

"James! I didn't see ye lurkin' there. Ye nearly scared me half to death. Wiper yer wet shoes on that towel there, I just scrubbed this floor." Forsythia scolds. She puts on a posh accent, over emphasizing every line with harsh facial expression.

She continued, pushing her dark sausage curls behind her shoulder.

"Well, wash up. It's almost time for breakfast. Where've ye two been at this time of the mornin'? And where's yer brother? I hope you two didn't go skatin' this early. I told Davey I don't want either of ye on that ice when no one is around."

Forsythia smiles in a fantastical way. "That brother of yers thinks he can do anything he likes. Well he can't! Being popular and smart is no protection from danger. Just like your father, God rest him."

Adagio is hesitant to embrace Forsythia, but embraces her into his arms as if she is the most fragile thing on Earth. He cries out, his pitch piercing her eardrums. "Mama!"

Forsythia is quick to swat him away with her handkerchief.

"James! Stop that. A man doesn't cry. How many times have I told ye?"

* * *

"Dad, it's getting worse! We can't just sit here and do nothing. The doctor said-"

"The doctor said, it wouldn't be that bad." His father's voice was soft and tamed as he sipped on a tall glass of water. He didn't dare look at his son.

Adagio cringed, his catty eyes drooping into disappointment.

" _If_ , he said... if he got the proper treatment. Dad, this-"

"Adagio!" The man grasped the glass violently. It almost shattered under it's grip.

"You want to know what else the doctor said? He also said that nothing would get worse. You're being paranoid. He needs to fight through."

Adagio cringed under his father's words. They were unmerciful and cold, like a hard slap to the face. Tears began to prick in his eyes, the boy looking to the side and shutting them tight, shielding them from being seen. Marco turned to face him, sensing the tense silence between him and his son.

"Oh come on, Adagio. Are you really going to cry?" He approached his son, looking down on him. His thumbs graced over his soft copper complexion, wiping the hot tears from his eyes. His voice was low.

"How many times do I have to tell you this? A man doesn't cry."

* * *

And then he's back, looking up into Forsythia's face. She grins, removing him from her and stroking the top of his head making Adagio flinch.

"Now, what is it?" she spoke. "Tell me. James. Stop that crying now. Ye'll make yerself a breath."

He exhaled shakily.

"Take a breath, James."

This one more steady.

"That's a good boy. Take another. Good. Now, do ye want some water?"

Adagio nodded his head as Forsythia headed to the back prop table where a pitcher of water waited for her. Just as her hand came into contact with the plastic material, a knock effect resonated in the theatre and an overweight, dark skinned boy stepped in, a rugged mop of hair on his head. It is the Deacon of the Kirk.

"Deacon!" Forsythia squeals. She wipes her hands with a towel. "This is an early surprise."

The young boy by the name of Ronald nodded sullenly.

"Margaret. Is Jamie about? He left my house in such a state."

Adagio emerged, making himself know to Ronald.

"Ah there ye are, laddie. Come here to me." Adagio complies.

"Have ye told yer mother about Davey?" Adagio shakes his head.

"I thought as much."

Seeing something was wrong, Forsythia begins to babble a bit.

"Davey? What did he do now? Granted, he's a little scrapper, but he has a good heart. You know how he-"

Ronald cut in. "Margaret-"

Then it was Adagio's turn. Tears burned up in his eyes, as he screeched a little too expressively to Forsythia.

"Mama! I tried to help him!"

The poor girl was so taken aback, she almost forgot her lines.

"I, um... J- James! What are you about? Stop yer crying. What will the Deacon think?"

"Margaret."

Forsythia paced over the stage, traveling more downward. Adagio still had a grip on her garment.

"What is it, for the love of God? Has he damaged himself?" She goes for her shawl. "Take me to him! James, will ye let go of me!"

"Margaret." Ronald paused. "Perhaps ye might want to sit down."

Pride and fear are taking over in more than one case. "I'll stand in my own house!" she snapped.

Ronald nodded calmly. "As you will then." He paused once again. "Margaret, I'm afraid Davey isn't coming home."

Adagio watched the two exchange lines, his eyes lighting up in horror. One had to wonder if he was okay. From backstage, the crew prepared to change the setting, staring at him in wonder as to why he looked so child-like and afraid.

"What are ye sayin' to me? My Davey can take care of himself. My Davey is a man!" Forsythia quoted.

 _Be a man. A man doesn't cry._

"Aye. He was. He was a man. Young as he was-"

She stiffened, setting a dangerous glare on Ronald.

"Was? Now ye're talkin' foolish. Ye're makin' no sense, man! Any moment now he'll- Will ye look at this floor? James, I told ye to clean yer boots. I just scrubbed it and look what ye did!" She gets down on her hands and knees and starts scrubbing the floor. Ronald kneels next to her.

"Margaret-"

She scrubs harder. Adagio is losing himself.

"Margaret!"

"Dont'. you. say. it!" The separation of her words are so powerful, the whole theatre stops to stare at her, awaiting her next move. Surely, it was something huge.

"Don't ye dare to speak the word! Don't you dare! He's my son! He's my son!" She lets out a long primal shriek of grief and faints into Ronald's arms.

* * *

"I'm sorry, there was nothing we could do, 'mam."

Melissa clutches herself on the floor of the waiting room, as she has to resist the urge to vomit. Her shrieks challenge those of a banshee.

"I- I knew it! I knew it! He wasn't going to be fine! And now he's gone!"

Adagio chuckles violently to her. He had sat in the corner of the room where a potted plant once sat. Now the glass remains, as well as the soil scattered all over the floor. His eyes bloodshot and dangerous.

"You're just as bad!" He screeched. "You weren't even there when he died! You. took. his. side!" His voice is so full of venom he wants to spit on her if he could ever reach.

"No." she stiffens. "No! No!" The lady is hysterically rolling on the floor, covering her ears and shutting them tight as the doctor tries to bring her up off of the ground.

"Don't!" A series of shouts, and screeches and sobs follow shortly after.

"He's my son!"

More hot tears begin to roll down Adagio's cheeks, but he doesn't dare turn away from the wall to look at her. If he does, he doesn't know what he would do.

Her words are being choked down by the tears that constrained her.

"He's my son." she repeated.

All he could do was hug his knees to his chest and rock back and forth. He hoped this was a dream. He hoped this was a disgusting nightmare. That when he opened his eyes, he'd be in bed, sweat showering down his face. But, he never woke up.

* * *

Blackout. Funeral Gatherers file around Davey's gravesite. A bead of sweat formed against Adagio's forehead, his breathing short and chopped. He was reaching his break. The boy breathed and clutched his head before speaking again. The scenery changed behind him.

"A new snow had fallen the night before-" his voice was weak and soft.

"Speak louder! C'mon Adagio, project!" Chris yelled from his chair.

Adagio nodded softly to himself. He could do this. He could keep his control.

"A new snow had fallen the night before Davey's funeral." He tried again with much more conviction, but still kept a mournful tone.

"It was like a big blanket that covered the roofs, and shutters, and cobbled streets of our village with what seemed like - a new beginning. But it wasn't. The snow was so white compared to the citizens of our town of Kirriemuir who were all dressed in black as they trudged to Davey's burial site."

Ronald began to speak over the cheap wooden coffin prop before him. The scene was back in real time.

"This sad world will be the poorer for the tragic loss of David Barrie. A boy - nae, not a boy, a young _man_. A perfect young man of such promise; a promise which must now remain unfilled."

 _He had promise too. He had more promise than Adagio could have ever wished for himself._

Ronald nods to the pallbearers to lower the casket into the hole.

"In sure and certain belief of Life Everlasting."

At the sight of the burial, Adagio feels an active pain in his stomach.

"Nooooo!"

Forsythia can bear no more. She pulls Adagio away from the grave and wallops him across the face. Sound of the crowd appalled. Everyone else exits. There is a pause. Finally, son and mother speak.

"Mama-" Adagio started. His voice is feeble.

"Don't." Hers is strong-willed.

"I- I tried to warn him."

"Don't."

"I- I tried to help him."

"He would have saved YOU!" Then with calmness, more deadly than her silence, "Ye're small and ye're puny and ye let him die. He was a man. That Deacon was right. Young as he was, he was a man. He would have had a future."

Adagio had to fight back tears. _He knows he would've. He should have._

"Mama, what are you saying?"

Forsythia went to hug him with all her might. She whispers.

"I'm saying - I'm saying, the _wrong son died_." She forces tears down her face.

"D'ye understand me now, James? The wrong son died!" She staggers to Davey's monument.

"Oh my Davey. Laying there in that cold, cold water. Oh God, why? Why take the perfect one?"

A crack.

Adagio goes to her.

"James! Will ye stay away? Ye wee, small fraction of a person! I don't want ye now. Just stay there where ye are. I don't want ye now!"

Forsythia stared at Adagio, awaiting the delivery of his next line so that she could exit the stage. He was looking out into the audience. Stage left, house right at the very extreme end of the row. Just staring at the empty seat.

Chris raised an eyebrow. He tapped the microphone from his seat.

"Adagio? We're continuing on with the scene. What are you looking at?"

He didn't answer. He just continued to stare out into the audience, his eyes trained on that one seat.

"Adagio?" Forsythia sang off key.

"It's your line. Remember? You're supposed to say... I understand, Mama. And then step into the spotlight."

He doesn't answer.

"Adagio?"

He's only looking at him. He sees him. His bright smile, crooked but perfect all at the same time. His shoulders broad and drawn up strong. His stance is arrogant and grand, just as he remembered him to be. A thick, tousle of hair, shorter than Adagio's sat perfectly ruffled upon his head.

Adagio parts his slightly chapped lips.

"I couldn't do enough," he mumbled to him. He saw him tilt his head to the side.

"What do you mean Adagio?" His words laced in a strong and youthful laugh. Despite the two being so similar, his voice is higher and more alive.

Adagio lets out a shaky breath. He had yearned to hear his voice for so long he had almost forgotten what it sounded like.

"You and I both know you did what you could," he spoke again. Adagio's fist clenched as his body shook. That was the problem. He did what he could. And...

"And it wasn't good enough! I couldn't stop it from happening!"

"Adagio, who in the heavens are you talking to?" Forsythia yelled, throwing her hands up to the sky.

"You were dying, and I wasn't strong enough to save your life!" He's powerless but he doesn't dare shed a tear. To everyone else, it looks like he's going mad, yelling to the empty chair to his left.

"I've missed you."

"Adagio, what are you-" Forsythia started. Adagio clutched his head, a drum pounded rhythmically against his skull.

"J-Just shut up, okay?" he yelled back at her, turning away from him. He fears that if he loses his concentration, he'll go away. Just taking his eyes off of him, when Forsythia shies back, he's no longer there. Instead, the stage left, house right seat is empty.

"Michael!"

Adagio scans the whole auditorium, his gaze landing on every chair. Where did he go? He can't just leave. He was right there. Forsythia sighs, placing a hand on Adagio's shoulder. She shakes her head, letting the large hat on her head slant out of place and to the side.

"You're acting irrationally. You can't just-" Forsythia whispered.

"Look what you did!" He pointed an accusing finger in Forsythia's face. His voice was cold. No, more than cold. Cold didn't even begin to describe it. His voice was an ice box, and unsparing. Forsythia stepped back, seeing the rage in his eyes. Her back collided with the fake coffin prop.

"Wh-What did I do?"

"You scared him away! He was just here!"

"Adagio, I-"

"Do you know what you just did? Fuck!"

Forsythia shakes her head, unable to swat off the feeling that overcomes her.

"Adagio, I didn't. What did I do?" Her voice heightens to a yell, and Chris doesn't bother to stop the scene before him.

"I don't know if I'll ever get to see him again because of you!"

Forsythia cringed, shutting her eyes tight and turning her head to the side exposing her pearly dusted cheek.

"B-but Adagio, there was no one there!" Her voice cracks. Forsythia clutches her hands together. Her breathing is heavy and her chest his heaving. By the time she raises an arm, another voice interrupts just as the back of hand collides harshly with the side of her cheek.

"That's enough!" a voice erupted from the back of the room. The voice was booming and masculine, a voice that Adagio had already been too familiar with. He shook his head, heavy footsteps booming louder down the aisle as he got closer.

"Adagio, I told you not to do this. You can't handle it!"

Adagio felt a churning in his stomach, an uneasy feeling resting with him.

"I told you this was is of your business, Marco. What are you doing here?" He's wincing in pain, and clutching his cheek.

Marco growled, looking up daringly at Adagio.

"It just became my business when it affected the well-being of my son! I came here because I wanted to see what you were getting into. Is this what you want? You're hurting the people around you Adagio!" He grasps his shoulders.

"This is driving you mad."

"Oh so now, you care about the well-being of your son? Well, it's a little too late for that now!" he barked back.

The scene was like two pit-bulls going at each other, constrained to their own posts by a single chain. They could snap off in any minute.

"He was here! I know what I saw!"

Marco grasped his head in a similar fashion to that of his son's, running his fingers violently through his scalp.

"Jesus..." he mumbled, shutting his eyes tight. He didn't understand why Adagio insisted on being so stubborn.

"Did you take your anti-depressants today? Why are you doing this to yourself? Doesn't it hurt?" The questions come flowing one after the other.

"I know what I saw." he said again. He feels as if he's being tested. Michael was there. He spoke. He looked at him. He was there. But who was he trying to convince? His father, or himself?

Marco groaned, pounding his first violently on the surface of the stage, startling everyone in the auditorium.

"Michael is dead. How could you have possibly seen him?" He lets out a sarcastic, chuckle.

"This is my punishment, isn't it? How many times do I have to say I'm sorry until you think rationally and not just to spite me?"

Adagio stared at him for a moment, hurt by his words. Michael always resembled him the most down to his muscular configuration. Adagio was more like his mother, even more so now that his musculature has lessened over the past few months due to inactivity and not eating at regular intervals.

But instead of saying anything, he produced a grotesque sound, vomiting the small bit of his stomach contents all over the stage. The upchuck was a bright slimly yellow complexion, with chunks of brown and dark green.

"Ew!" Chris squirmed. He brought his hands up to the collarbone of his neck, standing up from his seat in the auditorium.

"Stage crew! Clean up on aisle everywhere!" He screeched into the microphone.

Adagio felt his stomach twist and turn, as he bent down for round two. Marco had already dragged him off of the stage and into the hallway before the heaving began.

He stood next to him, back pressed up against the wall and hands against his knees. His breathing was heavy and uneven.

"Adagio, I want you out of that play." he said sternly. Adagio breathed, his words caught in his throat. His heaving calmed, but only slightly.

"No-" A staggered breath. "This isn't your decision. I'm doing this."

Marco rolled his heavy eyes, turning away from his son.

"I'm talking to your principal first thing tomorrow morning and I'm taking you home. Come on, let's go."

"There's no way I'm going to-"

Marco looked at him with hurt in his eyes.

"Adagio, please," he begged.

"Just stop fighting me for today. I'm taking you home because you just spilled your lunch all over stage."

He said nothing.

"I'll be in the car." he grumbled.

Adagio slid his body down on to the floor, letting his whole stature collapse against the hard marble, his muscles relaxing into numbness. That was enough for the day. That was enough.

* * *

 **Time: 6:47 p.m.**

 **Place: the Dent Residence**

* * *

Sophia chewed silently on a piece of meat, taking slow swallows. The dinner was unusually silent between the small group. Her brother, Joey, sat directly across from her, playing with his salad. He tried to stab at a bright red tomato between the teeth of his metal fork, but was unsuccessful. The second born of her brothers, William, sat two seats dow to his right. The eldest brother of the group, Robert, sat two seats down on Sophia's side to her right, and her father, in the direct seat to her left. All that could be heard amongst the six was the clanking of silverware against the fragile material of their plates.

"So," Mr. Dent started. "How was your day at school Sophia?"

Sophia bit down on her pink lips, giving her father a fleeting look. The drama involving Adagio at rehearsal had put her into a shock. She couldn't help but wonder if he was okay. Or if he would be returning to rehearsal the next day. For the remainder of the time, Kara had to read through Adagio's lines as they came through a microphone backstage so that they wouldn't waste any valuable rehearsal time. But the tension from the encounter was still prevalent amongst them. No one felt anything to laugh or to make a joke. The play was in jeopardy. If they had no lead, there was no play. And if there was no play, that meant no funds for the Drama club. Sophia clutched her fork, sighing down to her food.

"It was okay. You know, I think I'm not too hungry anymore." She pushes her plate away.

"What?" Joey outbursts from the comfort of his seat. He spoke with a full mouth, his words translating as muffled to the table. _Boys._

"You love meatloaf night, Soph! What do you mean you're not hungry?"

Sophia mustered a small laugh, shaking her head lightly at him.

"I know, I know. It's just-" she paused trying to think of a plausible excuse. "I had a big lunch today."

Mr. Dent rolled his eyes to the side, swallowing whatever was inside of his mouth.

"Joey, you know it's rude to talk with your mouth full."

Joey sunk back into his dinner chair, grumbling to himself and shutting his mouth close.

"May I be excused?" she asks in a soft voice.

Mr. Dent gives his daughter a skeptical look.

"Of course. Are you sure, you're okay Soph?"

Sophia nods frantically, getting up from her seat and pushing her chair in before scurrying up the stairs.

She passes the picture of her father and mother from their wedding day at the end of the hall.

It's weird. It really is. For Sophia, it was like looking into an aging mirror. She was beautiful, and compassionate. And Sophia is her spitting image. There was no question about it. She wondered what it would have been like to know her. She wonders how it would have been like to remember the way she held her. For her brothers, she's quite a sore subject. They remember when she was alive. They grew up motherless from once having a mother. The closest maternal figure they had being their grandmother, Odette.

They always told her how much like her she was. Her father even says that when he sees Sophia, it's like her mother had never left. Sophia leaves her gaze on the photo for longer before turning around and going into her room. She decides her existence is not something to dwell on, at least not for today. Sophia rolls over into bed, and quickly drifts off into a deep sleep.

* * *

 **Hey gang! Thank you for reading. Wow, this chapter took forever. I had to do a lot of research so I really hope you enjoyed. _Reviews are very much appreciated!_ Until next time!**


	7. Eyrik in the Sky with Diamonds

Chapter 7: Eyrik in the Sky With Diamonds

* * *

 **Date: Tuesday, October 19**

 **Time: 10:18 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; West Wing**

* * *

Boredom always precedes a period of great creativity. That was certainly a fact. But, in the midst of the last five minutes of Mr. Nolan's AP Calculus class, he wasn't bored. Not in the slightest. No, Eyrik Banks was never bored. Boredom was inconsequential. There was always something new to see. The more appropriate word to use in this situation would be uninterested.

As Mr. Nolan droned on and on about linear approximations, Eyrik could feel himself getting lost in his distractingly large blonde afro. A definite unusual trait, but unique to his own personality. It was only when the immensely sized man had halted his rant to ask a question to the class open to speculation, had Eyrik began to focus his attention again. His pitch-black pupils fixated themselves into place as the man spoke.

"Suppose you drop a basketball from a height of ten feet. After it hits the floor, it reaches a height of seven point five equals ten times three-fourths feet. After it hits the floor for the second time, it reaches a height of five point six two five equals seven point five times three-fourths, equals ten times three-fourths squared and so on."

Eyrik grasped for his pencil, distressing in the fact that Mr. Nolan happened to adopt a lectured style of teaching, rarely ever writing anything on the board unless necessary. He was excessively vocal in explaining his instruction style as purely for the purpose of preparing his students for the fast pace of college courses. But, that of course meant that the students had to pay more close attention to his words. Eyrik was already on the fifteenth sheet of paper in his notebook when he started to jot down the numerical details of the application problem. His handwriting had already been below average in terms of size.

He trekked closer to the students.

Mr. Nolan continued, "Does the ball ever come to rest, and if so, what total vertical distance will it have traveled? Remember, use the formulas that I have provided you to solve this problem. Raise your hand when you have come to a conclusion." He then waddled over to his desk to the far left of the classroom, plunking down his rump into the barely stable rolling chair. Eyrik shrunk under his dark cloak, resting his gaze on the notebook laying on his desk. Slowly, but surely, Eyrik began to do the problem. As he approached the last step, checking his previous work with a calculator, an eager hand shot up in the front row of the classroom. The boy had pale skin, and black spiky hair. The same boy who had answered the last five questions. Mr. Nolan heaved his chest. His puny fingers clasped together, overlapping over one another. They rested in front of him, and over his torso. Eyrik had just come to an answer when the older man produced a theatrical sigh.

"Does anyone, besides Nahliel know the answer?"

Eyrik cast his head down into the desk, not wanting to meet eyes with Mr. Nolan. He was _that_ type of teacher. The type of teacher to call on someone at random when he wasn't satisfied with the voluntary answering pool. And if his observations were correct, he was unfortunately well over due for a random call on.

"Eyrik!" Mr. Nolan piped up.

Just as expected. The purple haired boy shook his head subtly, a few strands falling into his line of vision. But he knew, completely ignoring him and having him call his name again would just bring more unwanted attention. Eyrik propped his head up with the heel of his right hand. He rests his cheek on its light surface, moving his head into a comfortable tilt in the process.

"Eyrik, what answer did you come up with?" Mr. Nolan added.

Eyrik subconsciously looked down to his notepad. Towards the bottom of the page, a single number was neatly boxed in as the answer: 70. Mr. Nolan stalked closer to the student, well aware of his soft-spoken nature.

"Seventy feet," Eyrik mumbled, just loud enough for the adult to hear.

Mr. Nolan grinned, nodding his head and writing his answer onto the board.

"That's correct Eyrik," he commented. The abrupt ringing of the bell prompted the class to get up from their seats and collect their things. Eyrik grumbled as a handful of students pushed past him in the row behind. Once a decent deal of students had exited the classroom for lunch, he slowly began to pack his things away just as Nahliel had approached Mr. Nolan at his desk. The green-eyed boy grasped the straps of his book bag, apprehensively, before speaking.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Mr. Nolan nodded, adverting his eyes from his teaching notes for the day. He extended a hand in front of him, gesturing to a cold, vacant metal seat.

"Please, take a seat Nahliel," he responded.

Nahliel dropped his bag from his shoulders, setting it down beside him on the floor next to the chair. Mr. Nolan took a few moments after Nahliel was properly seated to explain his purpose. Eyrik eyed them from the opposite side of the classroom, casting his attention on Nahliel's fidgeting leg. The heel of his foot refused to grace the surface of the floor. He was nervous. If the way that he wrung his hands together didn't give it way, his unusual tendency of avoiding eye contact certainly did. Eyrik could tell.

"Nahliel, this is concerning your application for the National Math Honors' Society. Usually, you would have to have some kind of precedent credits entering the school system in order to merely be qualified to apply. Especially since you're exiting from a homeschool program. But, I have to say I'm impressed. Your application is outstanding to put it simply. Better than the majority of this year's applicants," Mr. Nolan smiled. He pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Nahliel sat up in his seat, his eyes lighting up at the praise. Eyrik watched his fidgeting leg settle to a more satisfying state.

"But-" Mr. Nolan started, "unfortunately, we cannot accept you."

A frown tugged visibly at the corners of Nahliel's mouth as he felt a small part of his world shatter as easy as glass.

"What do you mean? I thought I was a shoo-in. What seems to be the problem?"

Mr. Nolan attempted a nervous smile. He avoided looking the teen in the eyes. He was being passive.

"Well, you see Nahliel, everything on your application was perfect. But, I'm afraid that your lack of community service hours has caused the board to reconsider our original decision of acceptance. And I know that it's not quite your fault because you are new here. But, we here in the National Math Honors' Society value charitable deeds just as much as educational achievement."

An apparent silence came over the two, and the bystander found in Eyrik.

"So, what are you saying? I've been rejected?" he asked in a soft voice.

The brown-eyed man shook his head.

"Well, I'm not really supposed to be telling you this—but we haven't finalized our decisions yet. And since you are a senior and this is your last year, it would be a shame to have your first and last chance be unsuccessful. You're such a promising student, Nahliel. So here's what I can do for you."

Nahliel's interest peaked dramatically, as well as Eyrik's. Nahliel looked to the man frantically, desperate for a last resort. If he could put the prestigious national society on his college transcript with diplomatic documentation, he would have that extra edge to get into his most desired college. These are the things that they look for, that separate an ordinary student from an extraordinary student. He blinked slowly.

"Whatever it takes," he muttered. Mr. Nolan nodded, pulling a large yellow folder out from his desk drawer. The older man sets an awkward gaze on Eyrik before continuing.

"I have a student in my tenth grade Geometry class that is currently failing my class. This is a copy of his most recent test scores."

Nahliel grasped the piece of laminated paper into his grip, scanning his eyes down the sheet. A collection of test scores in the sixties and fifties range, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst a few grades in the eighties and seventies for small homework and classwork grades. Nahliel cringed.

"I understand your concern for this student, but what does this have to do with me, sir?"

Mr. Nolan folded his hands together.

"Well, you see. You're one of my best students. You excelled especially in the geometry portion of the advanced placement test that you took at the beginning of the year. My proposition, if you are able to tutor this student, and bring his grade point average up to at least a 2.4 by the end of the marking period, you can get the appropriate community service credentials that you need for acceptance into the National Math Honors' Society."

Nahliel raised a dark eyebrow skeptically at the man; his green eyes meeting the man's brown ones.

"And if I don't?"

Mr. Nolan let out an expectant chuckle.

"I was sure you would have asked that. The bottom line, Mr. Tsumabuki, is the creation of your denial letter." The man averted his attention to stuffing the student's document back into the yellow folder, placing it back into his desk drawer and closing it softly.

He continued, "It shouldn't be too hard. This experience is meant to benefit you both. If he doesn't do well in my class, there will be consequences on his part as well. Besides, I think you two might get along swimmingly." His smile was wide and cheesy, slightly hindered by a fat mustache that curled at its tips, one that could only be described as cartoonish.

Nahliel nodded bravely, a million thoughts rushing through his head at a million miles per hour. He wrung his hands together.

"When can I start?"

Mr. Nolan looked at him before speaking.

"Your sessions will be every Monday and Thursday in the school library, until the end of the semester. Any schedule conflicts?" He eyed the teen through foggy spectacles.

Nahliel almost bit his tongue, shaking his head feverishly. He nervously smiled, his eyebrows coming together to form a triangle in the center.

"Good to hear. His name is Liam. Good kid, but not all that motivated." The man stood from his seat.

"But I think you can get through to him. Is this something you can handle, Nahliel?"

He didn't miss a beat.

"Of course, sir. I will not let you down. Have a good day." Slinging his backpack back over his shoulders, Nahliel quickly scurried out of the classroom, not bothering to pick up his feet against the marble constructed floor.

Mr. Nolan sighed, leaning a hand crookedly on one side of his hip. It wasn't until he looked up that he finally took notice of the fly on the wall. He gave the shielded teen a confused look.

"Eyrik, did you want to talk to me about something?"

The cloaked male looked taken aback, but only for a brief moment.

"No."

With less courtesy than Nahiel had, Eyrik then pushed himself out of Mr. Nolan's classroom. This was a regular routine for him. Most days, he would purposely take his time before exiting the class before lunch. The hallways were always too crowded during the first five minutes entering into the one hour block. It's when the students would casually stroll off to their lockers, putting their morning class books away. Or where obnoxious jocks and preps would collect in the middle of the hallway to discuss the idiocy of the day's events. Or where the stoners would meet up to smoke a joint. Bottom line, lunchtime is the time for cliques. The whole bunch of them, to get together. You would think that being a senior in this school, Eyrik would have found someplace among some group of people that he belonged to. But, unfortunately in the eyes of others, that wasn't the case.

Even the newly transferred students were slowly fitting into someone's twisted version of social normality. But Eyrik didn't fit into any stereotypes. He liked himself that way. One may attempt to support his behavior with not fitting in to stand out. But, Eyrik didn't do that either. So if you didn't fit in, and you didn't stand out. Then what did you do? You fit out. Eyrik fit out. He didn't stand out. He didn't fit in. He fit out. Fitting out means taking up space, not apologizing for yourself, and not agreeing with those who seek to label you with stereotypes. If everything in this world were to adopt a label, then that would be Eyrik's with no argument.

The hallway was relatively quiet, only a few lingering teens to show evidence of previous extreme population. Eyrik took in the aroma of smelly gym clothes in the morning. It stunk, but so did a lot of things. The trick was learning how to embrace the good, and the bad. Eyrik trekked down the hall slowly but surely, a few of the lingerers not so discreetly moving out of his way in all costs of engaging in unwanted social contact.

Reaching a push door down the stairs, he continued his path all the way down to his usual lunch venue, the student courtyard.

* * *

 **Time: 10:27 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Athletic Field**

* * *

"Come on Gyro, pick up the pace!"

"I'm g-going… as fast as I can." A voice heaved behind.

Jordan pushed ahead, his dark arms and legs falling into a synchronized rhythm. He concentrates his brown orbs on the track ahead of him. Jordan was very well aware that his friend had good stamina, but due to the extra weight on his body, he was just a little slow. Jordan turned himself around, a laugh playing upon his lips as he slowed to a more controlled pace, allowing Gyro to catch up with him. The teen placed both of his hands on his knees and bended over to catch his breath.

"You're a cheetah, man," Gyro stifled a laugh. His brown sunglasses shielded his eyes from the sun.

Jordan simply chuckled in response, crossing his arms over his physique.

"Thanks for running with me. I know it wasn't really something you wanted to do, but-"

Gyro put a hand up immediately to stop him. "Don't worry about it. I just wanted to be supportive of my best friend. I know you're really nervous about tryouts next week."

Jordan quickly looked away, a nervous hand going to rub the back of his neck. Gyro paused cautiously as if to be careful not to break a nerve.

"But, you're an amazing player, and you're already in shape . You have absolutely nothing to worry about." He smiled convincingly.

Jordan smiled back, shortly before looking down to his black canvas hi-top sneakers.

"Yeah, maybe we should take a break. We've been out here for, woah!"

Gyro watched as the seventeen year old boy went tumbling down on the track, his face impacting with the gravel. He naturally winced, feeling the pain of his friend, especially when the girl who had ran into him fell over his crushed body.

"My gosh, are you okay?" she frantically questioned. On one side she was embarrassed for being so klutzy, but on the other side she was grateful that he had broken her fall.

Jordan nodded, slowly picking himself off of the ground and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled. His eyes regained their focus on the girl and her cheeks lit up under his gaze. Her onyx eyes immediately succumbed to a fleeting, nervous reaction. She chuckles, looking up to him.

"I'm really sorry about that. I guess I wasn't paying much attention. Thanks for breaking my fall, though" she laughs.

Jordan nodded slowly at her, looking her up and down and taking in her appearance. She definitely had a unique taste in fashion. Certainly different from what he had seen back in the UK.

"It's fine really." Jordan turns back to Gyro who had regained a steady breath from the exercise. He motions to him with the jerk of his head as he began to travel out of the gated track.

Gyro, hesitantly followed behind him after giving an appreciative look to the girl. Seeing that the two teens set their sights on leaving, she perked up, quickly following after them and settling on the left side of Jordan.

"Uh, hey, gone so soon?" she blubbered. "What were you two doing out?"

Jordan looked at her momentarily before providing an answer.

"We were just going out for a run before heading to the cafeteria to grab something to eat."

The girl smiled, adjusting the pink cap on her head. "Oh well, that's cool. Um,"

She stuffs her hands into her blue jeans, a smile still on her face.

"You're Jordan right?"

Jordan halted in his path, resting his hands suspiciously at his side. How did this girl know his name? He had to wonder if he was unknowingly wearing something as obvious as a tag. He nodded slowly, his words lethargic.

"Yes, how did you know?" He mimicked her, shoving his dark hands into his pockets as a reaction to concealment.

She laughed. "You're in my eighth period Gym class. We've never really talked before, but I just always see you around. So, I thought it was about time to say him, don'tcha think?" She carried about a bubbly feel to her. Upon noticing that Jordan was slightly hesitant to respond, she went on.

"My name is Shann, with two n's, by the way."

Jordan smiled.

"Well, hello Shann. It's nice to officially meet you," he said. Shann nodded as Gyro raised an eyebrow at the two, naturally falling behind them in their pace.

Jordan was shocked at how he could have overlooked this girl's presence. She didn't seem to be one to blend in with the crowd. He felt another grin tug at the corners of his mouth.

"This is my friend," he gestured to Gyro who had suddenly penetrated the one-on-one conversation at his mention. His eyes lit up under his sunglasses. He held up a friendly hand, waving it excitedly.

Shann grinned, going to shake his hand. Gyro's head bobbled dramatically from her force. He had to refocus himself.

"Wow, you're strong. Uh, my name is Gyro," he says.

"Thanks," Shann placed two firm hands on her hips, holding her head up high to separate it from the fabric of her checkered neck scarf.

"Nice to meet you Gyro. Nice name. It's spontaneously unique," she winked. Gyro nodded while feeling his cheeks heat up unexpectedly, but still kept his charisma about him. She then turned back to Jordan who had gotten a decent distance on the two. She jogged up closer to him, trailing behind his right shoulder.

"Hey, would you mind if I eat lunch with you guys? I don't have that many friends here yet." She scolder herself for feeling so embarrassed. She was usually a more go with the flow kind of girl as opposed to a nervous and jittery one, but she couldn't help but second guess the extent of her welcome.

Jordan brought his hands out of his pocket, instead, opting them together in front of him.

"Of course, Shann. Gyro and I are new here too. So, we could use some companionship."

Shann exhaled a breath of relief before grinning, beginning to chat Jordan up into another conversation.

Gyro remained a decent amount of distance behind, eyeing the two as they laughed and talked about the miscellaneous, occasionally dragging his feet against the hard concrete as they entered the parking lot back into the school.

* * *

 **Time: 10:36 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Student Courtyard**

* * *

The artist draws connections. He ties the invisible threads between things. He dives into history, be it the history of mankind, the geological history of the Earth or the beginning and end of the manifest cosmos. Eyrik, accordingly, was an artist. Since a child, he's always been one. Not in the literal sense of producing paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby. Eyrik is an artist in his own sense. He watches life go by, from the best possible view available in any given situation. A bird's eye view.

So as Eyrik climbed his way to the top of one of his more preferred trees in the courtyard, he felt tall amongst the tiny ants below him. A few unsuspecting freshman gave him dirty looks, not yet used to his daily behaviors. Eyrik seemed unfazed, pulling his lunch from a brown paper bag and casting his gaze on a separation of cliques. The proclaimed 'nerd' table, played around with a robotics set. The 'goths and emos' debated over eccentric music selections and went into talks about an open-mic night. The 'preps' giggled over trivial matters. Eyrik was in the heart of it all.

The conversation topics of each group rarely deviated from a common ground. It was like watching a stereotypical 80's movie scene. Somehow, Wawanakwa Academy refused to conform to modern day societal forms, and still remained segregated through a hierarchy system. One would have considered a significant teenage advancement from then. But, apparently not. They stuck to the status quo.

Eyrik relaxed under the shade of the leafy tree. His head collided harshly against the tree bark, causing him to throw his cloak down from under his head and rub the spot of pain. He winced, shaking his head and placing his hood back over his purple dyed hair. After finishing a sandwich, he focused his attention on a conversation happening below.

"And the worst part is, if he doesn't achieve a 2.4 GPA by the end of the marking period, there goes my college acceptance letter."

Nahliel who had been the source of stress sighed, relaxing his muscles into the table. The two other teens sitting across from him, namely Matt and Rickie, looked onwards skeptically at the boy. They almost regret when he had come up to their table and they had questioned him about the nature of his glumness. Matt, finishing his bag of organic chips, nodded sympathetically to Nahliel.

"I understand. Your happiness shouldn't be measured by the success of others. But, then again, this is the way it is. That argument, although invalid, might not go too far in this situation," he commented.

Rickie nodded in agreement. He had currently been occupied in the final touches of a sketch he planned on painting later, but cast his head back up to the boy once he had opened up the conversation to other's opinions.

"Plus, you shouldn't be so on edge about it. There's a lot of stress out there, and to handle it, you just need to believe in yourself."

Nahliel looked up to the duo, unconvinced.

A smirk easily creeped up onto Matt's face. He folded his hands together, studiously in front of him.

"Find joy in the things that you like doing the most. For example, I like to write. Writing means sharing. It's part of the human condition to want to share things- thoughts, ideas, opinions. It relieves me from everyday anxieties. What do you like to do Nahliel?" Matt questioned.

Eyrik couldn't help but lean in closer at their words. They were getting quieter and quieter. He had to strain his ears in order to properly hear. From their previous conversation, he felt an era of urgency around Nahliel. Like two stone walls were closing in one each other, and the green eyed teen was stuck in the middle.

Nahliel thought for a moment. What _did_ he like to do? He brought his head up to the two who were awaiting an answer.

"I- I like to cook, and sing, and practice kung fu. Meet new people, I suppose..." His hand went to rub his neck.

Rickie smiled, "Then take joy in what pleases you. It's as simple as that."

Something gave Eyrik the impression that it wouldn't be that simple. At least not for him.

Nahliel smiled back, crookedly. "I would, believe me when I say that."

There was an unsettling pause between the two.

"But..." Rickie trailed.

"But, there's no time for that. My grandfather has standards. He expects me to excel. How am I going to excel if I'm wasting my time on- Shann!" The end of the sentence came randomly, but was quickly explained when he saw the girl walking towards him from behind Rickie and Matt's heads, a huge smile on her face. She practically skipped over to the table.

"Shann? You're wasting your time on Shann?" Matt raised a curious eyebrow which elicited a laugh from Nahliel.

His outburst even caused Eyrik to do a double take from where he was sitting.

"No, my apologies about that. I just saw my friend from behind you."

The two other teens whipped their heads around to meet the peculiarly dressed girl. As she reached the table, she gave a friendly wave to all of its occupants. Weirdly enough, even the small group of emotional boys seated at the end of the table, far from the group. Nahliel grinned charmingly.

"Rickie, Matt, this is my friend Shann. Shann, Rickie and Matt." He gestured appropriately to each person.

"Hey guys. Hey Nahliel." She playfully ruffled his spiked hair.

"What've you been doing all of lunch? I thought we agreed to meet up." As the two got into conversation, Rickie and Matt couldn't help but feel like the unnecessary third and fourth training wheels on an adult bike.

Shann blushed in embarrassment. "Yeah, sorry about that, guy. I went out for a run at the start of lunch, and I ran into some cool dudes. I was in the cafeteria eating with them." She looked at him with worry in her eyes.

"Are you mad?"

There was a pause.

Nahliel grinned, shaking his head quickly.

"No, no it's fine. Hey, are we still on for after-school?"

Shann's smile swiftly regenerated, just for it to be broken down again. She shuddered with guilt.

"I'm sorry Nahliel. I really am. I promised I'd hang out with ma new friends today."

She covered her face with her hands.

"How 'bout a rain check? The weekend is no good. Hm, how about Monday after-school?"

She looked to him hopefully.

Eyrik's eyes darted between the two in their conversation, sensing the disappointment in Nahliel's withering words.

"Oh, no. Sorry, that's no good. I have to tutor on Monday."

Shann nodded understandingly.

"Okay, uh, no problem. We'll find some other time." She didn't wait for his response.

"Hey, I have to run. But, I'll text ya later. It was nice meeting you guys." After waving to the three, she runs off back into the school.

Nahliel watches her go, only turning his attention back to Rickie and Matt when he can't see her anymore.

They exchange a knowing look.

"Uh, we have to run too Nahliel. But, this was fun. We should do it again some time." Matt started.

Nahliel instinctively went to shake their hands. "As to you, gentlemen."

The two smiled awkwardly, before heading off in the same direction that Shann had traveled, leaving Nahliel alone to wallow in his thoughts.

Eyrik sighed, almost empathetically as he watched him alone, his head cast down into the ground. He had almost considered going down to say something, until a shrill voice caught his attention on the opposite side of the courtyard. Eyrik shifted his body around, now focusing on two quarrelers. The first one, a female who he had assumed was the source of the shrill disturbance, had her pale arms crossed sternly over each other. Her hetero colored eyes, narrowed harshly at the taller boy in front of her who stood with just as much passion.

"Scar, you're being unreasonable!"

The boy revealed to be Scar, pinched the bridge of his nose, refusing to meet eyes with her. He took a deep breath, attempting to keep his temper under control.

Eyrik smirked. A classic lovers quarrel? This is something he could sink his teeth into.

"And you're being a bit controlling," he seethed.

"Controlling?"

She reacted as if Scar had just told her the worst news of her life.

"Well, yeah. Look Albina, I don't mean this in the wrong way. It's just, don't you think you're looking at worst case scenario here. Why would you even consider-"

She shakes her head at him before he could finish, already knowing what he was going to say. That was certainly a perk of being best friends.

"Because she's a manipulative bitch, that's why," she yelled. She was drawing attention to herself.

Careful not to say the wrong thing, Scar sighed, lowering his voice with frustration still evident.

"Can we talk about this at another time, Albina?" he muttered.

"W-Well," her cheeks lit up under the gaze of many lingering eyes. She felt like snapping at them like a bulldog on a chain, but decided she would spare her friend the trouble, at least for today. The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves. "Okay, but this is far from over."

She whipped her head around harshly, strutting away in all dramatics.

Scar groaned, grasping his head into his hands. He easily found shade under Eyrik's tree, flinging himself into the dirt. He had to keep his cool. Eyrik tilted his head to the side, kicking his dangling legs childishly above Scar.

Scar threw his head up to the sky, wrapping his arms around himself and groaning. The day had not been treating him too well. It was only a few seconds until he noticed the silhouette of Eyrik's blue and black shoes. Scar was all too familiar with him. The school year prior, he had been in his art class before switching out.

Eyrik felt embarrassed. No one had really bothered to look up. And when they did, he felt trapped.

Scar smiled, waving up to him. He hesitated before waving back. Eyrik thought he would try to connect with him, maybe by climbing up to see eye to eye. Although he watched, he never enjoyed seeing trouble. He sensed that Scar was under a lot of stress. Eyrik bit his lip, looking fleetingly to the side. Maybe he should say something. But then again, maybe not. He was respecting of his space, the least he could do is return the favor. The two sat there in silence, acknowledging each other's presence, but stoic in expression. That's one thing they had in common.

* * *

 **Time: 2:32 p.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; North Wing**

* * *

Grace was nervous. No. Nervous didn't begin to describe her pain. She had been in her final period Computer Science class when her teacher had gotten the page that Ms. Gates wanted to see her after class. That was when the panic set in. She wrung her hands together, standing at the forefront of the battlefield. Her feet positioned in place outside of her teacher's classroom. Her fist was up, ready to knock. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her thoughts immediately scavenged to worst case scenario. She was in trouble. That had to be it. Maybe she had over stepped her five minute limit when she had asked to go to the bathroom that day. But, she had finished her work early. She didn't think it would have been a problem. Plus, she was so sure her bathroom trip had only been three and a quarter of a minute. The closest bathroom was three hallways away after all. Or what if...

A layer of sweat started to form around her neck. Maybe she should just turn back. The next day she would tell her, her teacher forgot to pass on the message. Just as Grace was about to turn on her heels, she heard the door being thrown open in front of her, bringing her back into reality. A frustrated student stormed out, holding a piece of slightly crumpled paper in his hand. In big red marker, a cartoonish 'F'. Grace forced down a gulp.

Ms. Gates peeked through the open door, grinning when she saw Grace standing there with a deer in headlights expression on her face.

"Grace, please come in," she motioned.

There was no turning back now. Grace nodded, making her way into the classroom where a single chair sat in front of the teacher's desk. She plopped down into the seat, staring intently at the older woman.

"Grace-"

"Whatever I did wrong please please don't penalize me for it I'm sorry I'm so sorry I won't ever do it again don't tell my parents I can't-" she rambled quickly in one breath.

It was only when Ms. Gates started laughing that she finally stopped. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she watched the woman, clutching her stomach from whatever appeared to humor her about the situation.

"M- Ms. Gates?" she muttered.

The lady shook her head, trying hard to refocus.

"Grace, you're not in trouble," she laughed.

The teen had to blink twice.

"Really?"

The black haired woman nodded, fixing her red rimmed glasses upon her face.

"You're an excellent student. One of the best students I've ever had in fact." She stacks the short collection of papers in front of her.

"What can I say, Grace? You've been getting straight As in this class. You understand the material before anyone else does. You're a natural at math. Numbers just come to you easily."

Grace grinned at her, her dark blue eyes shimmering. She was never one to be too prideful in situations, but she would be lying if she said the woman's words weren't inflating her miniature ego.

"Thank you, 'mam."

She nodded.

"This is exactly why I'm reaching out to you about joining the Math Team. I saw your name on the interested list from the activity's fair last month. Do you happen to still be interested?"

Grace nodded, remembering when a rather awkward boy had approached her and Sophia, asking them if they were interested in joining the Math Team. She didn't think they would follow up on the scoping out of the signatures. But she hadn't put much thought to it.

"Yes, 'mam. I am still interested." She suddenly felt insecure as she went to play with a strand of her tied up hair.

Ms. Gates grinned. "That's good to hear, Grace. We don't usually open up the club to freshman, but I just had to make an exception for you," she joked.

Grace stood from her seat as Ms. Gates did, simultaneously. The lady held her hand out openly to her, waiting for her to shake it. As soon as she accepted her invitation, she announced, "Welcome to the Math League, Grace. We hope to see you at our first meeting on Monday. Hope to see you there."

Grace gave her an awkward smile shortly before shuffling out of the classroom. It hadn't been the most fitting response, but she felt like she was a ready batch of cookies, being alleviated from the scorching heat of an oven set on 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Grace radiated inwardly, the feeling of relief finally settling over her. She drooped her shoulders comfortably and rushed off towards the busses. She couldn't wait to tell Sophia.

* * *

 **Time: 3:12 p.m.**

 **Place: the Banks Residence**

* * *

"Eyrik, sweety, how was school?" he heard his grandmother utter.

The suction-like sound of the door opening, along with jingling silver keys was enough to call her into their living room. A kind old lady, really.

Eyrik didn't dare look at her, instead stuffing his hands into the pockets of his cloak. He held his head down, walking slowly up to his room and collapsing on his bed. Eyrik sighed, his dark eyes trailing over to his full backpack. He rolled his eyes before shutting them tight. The harsh fading summer heat getting to him, he threw off his cloak, revealing a red T-shirt and blue jeans. He runs his fingers easily through his purple locks. Even as Autumn was well on its way, the bipolar weather seemed to say otherwise.

This English homework was going to be a killer, he thought. Eyrik sunk down into the sheets. He rolls over into the pillow and groans. His grandfather would be home soon to make dinner, so that was something to look forward to. He reached into his book-bag, reaching for his history assignment. Something easy to start off. He grabbed his textbook from off of his desk, turning to Chapter 4.

About halfway through his notes, Eyrik felt weight weigh itself down onto his eyelids, forcing sleep upon him. He shut them lightly, just to throw them open as quickly as he dropped them. He needed a nice, refreshing glass of water. Eyrik jogged down the stairs leading to his kitchen where his grandmother sat. Her dark eyes resembled his, boring into the soul of whoever they had cast their sights on. He went into his fridge, childishly decorated in colorful alphabet magnets.

The fridge light lit up, causing a reflection in the water jug located on the top shelf. Eyrik took it out, shortly before finding a clean glass from the cabinet. Upon seeing his reflection in the material, he grimaced from the unusual sight of seeing himself without his cloak. It had concealed him from the world. It was his 'mask'. His grandmother followed him with her eyes. She too, sipping on a glass of water to choke down a pill. Eyrik didn't like this feeling of vulnerability, especially as a pair of eyes cast attention on him. He sipped slowly on the glass of water, leaning against the marble countertop.

The two occupants of the house engaged in a mini stare off. Although, no words were exchanged, they comforted each other in their silence. An unspoken affection. But as the woman parted her lips to speak, Eyrik felt a transitory telling to flee the scene. He marched back upstairs, only pausing momentarily to consider going back to her. He didn't know what he would say or do. But maybe he could stay there a little longer, just to be. Eyrik quickly shook the thought out of his head, going back into his room to continue his homework. He shut the lights off, only allowing a dimmed lamp on his night stand that had deteriorated in quality over time to shine over him. Just a few more pages and he could welcome the numbness back into his life. So he read, and read until he didn't have to read anymore. After a quick shower, he rested back onto his bed, sinking in his new mattress. Eyrik shut his eyes tight. It wasn't long until he had fallen into a deep sleep, preparing him for the next resulting day.

* * *

 **Hey gang! I hope you enjoyed this new chapter. I just have a few things I want to say. I appreciate all of the support that I have been getting regarding the story. Thank you to everyone who has been encouraging me thus far. It's a huge help. But, I want to address the issue of reviewing. It's sad to say that not a lot of people have been reviewing the story as of lately. This worries me because without your feedback, how am I supposed to know whether you have been reading/enjoying the story? Just a simple, one sentence review will make me happy. I hope that's not too much to ask. The more you review, the more motivated I am to write. I'll leave it at that for now. Sorry if this sounded too harsh, I just wanted to express my concern. Thank you for reading. Until next time!**


	8. Teen Spirit: Part 1

Chapter 8: Teen Spirit (Part 1)

* * *

 **Date: Wednesday, October 20**

 **Time: 5:45 a.m.**

 **Place: the DiVagleo Residence**

* * *

Fucking nightmares.

Those heart-hammering ones that start to lose coherence even as you're waking up from them, but that still manage to leave their moldering fingerprints all across your day. The thought burrowed into Adagio's heart as darkness turned to light. It coiled in his guts as he wedged himself back between the covers, clawing desperately at the Egyptian fabric.

The events from last night flowed in just as easily as water flowed from the Nile. Sitting up from his position, the fabric of his black night robe came into contact with the customized bed headboard. Throwing his head back in an effort to calm his nerves, his skull clunked against the hard wood, as he shut his catty eyes from the sunlight streaming in from the slightly cracked blinds of a far away window. Play rehearsal had no doubt run late last night. It wasn't until ten o'clock that he was able to situate himself into the clutches of the DiVagleo's enveloping living room couch. Thankfully, Marco and Melissa were already fast asleep by then. He hadn't even attempted at finishing his AP Composition essay, no doubt due second period the next morning. But, with Mr. Marcy in charge of the class as a maternity leave replacement, he was sure he could snake his way out of this one for at least a one-week extension.

Adagio pressed the back of his hand to a layer of sweat that had ripened on his neck over night, wiping away at the perspiration. He could hear a pair of feet, shuffling across the house and to the elevator. No doubt Florence going to start on breakfast. Adagio sighed, reaching over to disable the six o'clock alarm set on his digital clock. He slowly unchain himself from the warmth of his bed, wrapping his robe more tightly around his frame. He trudged lethargically to the master bathroom located not too far away from his parents' room. As soon as the lights clicked on, he was immediately met with a distorted image of himself, at least what he thought he looked like. His reaction was comedic in the sense that he was taken aback by this 'stranger' reflection. His hair was out of its usual short ponytail and now was a tousled, disfigured tornado. Crust made up of mucus, skin cells, oils and dust collected in the corners of his eye, and Adagio could just about recognize the residue from his eyeliner stuck to both his lids. He ran his tongue over his slightly chapped bottom lip and piercing. It was only until he felt the lukewarm drops of water, pounding lightly against his head after a quick soap up, did he finally get to breathe. The muscles in his back relaxed into a state of comfort. A small smirk settled upon his features, and in the last few steps of washing himself off, he let his voice come through. Canada's favorite way to blow off steam: singing obnoxiously loud in the shower, no matter who could hear.

Shutting the water off, and wrapping a towel around his waist, he went back to the mirror that once showed him in monstrosity. Now, he had a certain glow about him. Not much, but certainly progress compared to before. He scrubbed down his teeth shortly before letting his mouthwash take over with the burning sensation of the gums. His outfit for the day laid, folded neatly on the shelf installed into the wall. Adagio dried his hands with a disposable napkin, tossing it quickly into the empty trashcan. A typical ensemble of a white T-shirt under a brown vest with silver buttons. Below the torso, a pair of faded jeans. Not too obscene as to upset school dress code. At least principal McLean was gracious enough to allow his great amount of jewelry, the exception being gym class. He touches the area around his eyes, making a mental note that he should soon tattoo himself with henna. After pulling on a pair of fresh white socks, Adagio traveled back to his room, this time picking his feet up and off from the ground with each accelerating step. When he hears a tired grumble coming from his parents' room, he locks the door and flops himself down on his bed again, this time, pulling the script for "The Lost Boy", out from his book bag. He turns to page thirty-two and begins to read where he last left off. His character, James M. Barrie is an adult in the scene, and he goes back home to Scotland to visit his dear old mother. Adagio reads.

 **BARRIE.** I stopped at the cemetery. And visited Davey.

 **MOTHER.** _(She puts down the sewing, and slowly rises up.)_ I suppose ye'll be wanting some tea and something to eat. I run a restaurant when the famous author comes to visit.

 **BARRIE.** Don't bother, mother.

 **MOTHER.** _(With concern:)_ Well, have ye eaten?

 **BARRIE.** No.

 **MOTHER.** Then I'd better bother, hadn't I? _(She moves to the kitchen.)_

 **BARRIE.** I'll do that.

He puts down the book for a split second, as a bone-chilling breeze entered in through the balcony doors. Adagio wraps a blanket over himself before continuing on in the script.

 **MOTHER.** No! I'll do it! It's safer this way. And cleaner. You'll do it, indeed. _(She gets a dish and spoon. There is a slowness to her efforts.)_ How's your brother? Did he talk to ye?

 **BARRIE.** Mother, Davey's dead.

 **MOTHER.** _(Not angry.)_ Ye think I've gone daft? Ye think I don't know it? I know it. Every waking hour I know it. D'ye know what that is to a mother?

 **BARRIE.** I suppose I don't.

Adagio lingers on the line, engraving it into his memory.

 **MOTHER.** _(Laughing ironically:)_ Ye SUPPOSE ye don't, eh? The great author SUPPOSES he don't. _(She stares at him.)_ Ye send me money, ye send a few gifts, furniture; things I don't want and things I don't need. Ye visit every few years because ye thing ye have to.

 **BARRIE.** _(Pause.)_ I don't feel like I have to visit you Mother. Sometimes I simply miss you. _(A smile passes across her face for a second. She then shrugs it away.)_

 **BARRIE.** I made a discovery visiting Davey. For you—for us, I mean, Davey will always be thirteen years old. He'll always be as we remember him. He'll – never grow up.

 **MOTHER.** _(Seriously:)_ He'll always be my little boy! D'ye get that, James? D'ye understand?

He shifts uncomfortably in the bed sheets, opting for a more horizontal style of resting. Instead of in front of him, Adagio holds the book over his head and reads from there.

 **BARRIE.** And you resent me for it.

 **MOTHER.** Oh ye're a stupid little man, for all your great successes. The hurt I have has no anger, no resentment. Well, none for ye. Not anymore. _(Pause; watches him.)_ Nae. You're not my favorite. Ye never were. Not after Davey died and God knows, not before. I'm sorry. I've tried. I can't. _(BARRIE stares into tea cup.)_ HE DIDN'T HAVE TO DIE! It didn't have to happen. It broke my heart and it broke me. _(She grasps his hand with such force, that it can not be mistaken for affection—or for hate.)_ That boy was five of you. Five, six, seven. _(She pats his hand now; softer.)_ But of James, you could have done something.

Adagio grips the pages, as if he were to let go, they would evaporate into nothingness.

 **BARRIE.** Mama. I'm trying now.

 **MOTHER.** IT'S NOT ENOUGH! Nothing is enough. Not till I'm resting next to that child, not until I'm in my grave next to him. Nothing you could do will ever be enough. _(She tries to soften.)_ Why d'ye make me say these things to ye? Why d'ye force me to hurt ye? Like tonight. Ye hadn't taken off yer coat yet, and what did ye do? Ye tell me ye went to visit Davey. Couldn't ye lie? Couldn't ye say ye went to the pub? _(BARRIE reacts.)_ Try to understand son. I live here by myself and sometimes, sometimes I don't even think of him. I get out of bed, I go to church, I do my shopping, I eat and I sleep and I exist. But the minute you walk in here, ye pick and ye scratch at scabs that I thought had healed long ago. And lo, the wounds bleed afresh! Why d'ye do it? Why d'ye do it to me? And why d'ye do it to yourself-

An abrupt knocking at the door snaps him out of the world that had entranced him enough to not even notice the heavy set footsteps approaching the room. He shakes his head roughly and frantically, shoving the script back into his book bag and slinging it over his shoulders before going to open the door at the second knock.

A stern and gruff face as his visitor, and Adagio could tell that he was well overdue for a shave. He cursed himself mentally, knowing that he must of looked like a deer in headlights.

"Adagio, Florence prepared breakfast," he started.

Adagio blinked before delivering a proper answer. He cast his gaze downwards. He looked in submission to the man. Any bystander would most definitely understand that perceived relationship from the way that the two were positioned against each other. But Adagio's voice came out high and mighty contrary to his body language.

"I know," was his two-syllable response.

Marco shied back from his son, stuffing his hands deep into his pocket.

"I just thought I should come to get you. The eggs are getting cold and,"

The man stopped suddenly, furrowing his eyebrows together and focusing on a drying tear located on his son's left cheek. He brings his face closer to him, and his thumb up to his cheek to wipe it away.

"Adagio, were you crying?"

There's nothing the sixteen year old wants more, than to slap his father's hand away after feeling his touch. But, resisting the urge, he turns his head away sharply to stare at the cream colored plastered walls, thus causing the man to withdraw his hand.

He shakes his head, beginning to walk past him and to the elevator.

"I'm heading off to school. I can grab something to eat on my way there."

He sounds assertive, but his stomach secretly churns at the thought of food.

Just as the doors open, and the down arrow lights up over his head, Marco is already behind him, entering with his son. The doors close, and the shaft begins to take the two to the bottom floor.

"You know, Adagio, I can tell you're still upset about what had to happen this week. But, I assure you; this is for your own good. Your mother and I agreed that we wouldn't want to put you through that pain."

He waits for a reaction from his son, but silence only follows. All that was needed to complete the awkward moment was elating, cheesy elevator music and the scene would be sitcom worthy. Mr. DiVagleo continued.

"Mr. McLean was very understanding when we went to talk to him. No one is going to be upset with you about withdrawing yourself from-"

"I didn't withdraw _myself_. You did." Adagio corrected.

The man cleared his throat, but didn't find it in his embodiment to give some sort of failing attempt at uplifting his son's spirits. Instead, he watched silently when he threw his ankle boots on at the door and left the home in a hurry.

* * *

 **Time: 5:48 a.m.**

 **Place: the Greyson Residence**

* * *

Unfortunately, Adagio wasn't the only one waking up from a terrible dream. Across town, in the safe to say, lesser-recognized but more inhabited section of Aspen, a teenage boy rolled off of the cradle berth that he called his bed; a slim futon couch. His head collided with the hard wood floor as a tired groan escaped his lips. He inhaled, a fresh carpet smell shooting him in the nostrils. Eli pushed himself up from off the floor and stood into an erect position. He ran a tan hand through his light brown quiff.

He pulled a drab cell phone from on top of the kitchen counter, squinting when the bright screen illuminated against the darkness of the room. The first thing that caught his attention; the time displayed in large block letters: 5:50. Placing his phone back down onto the counter, Eli traveled over to the futon, where his clothes were laid out neatly over the cushion tops. Grasping for a crisp white T-shirt, he throws it over his head and pulls it down onto his shirtless body. Only as he's pulling on his jeans does he remember that his little sister, Emma, specifically requested for a cinnamon pop tart this morning, as oppose to her usual strawberry flavor. It was certainly something out of the blue, but what could he say? The kid liked to mix it up every now and then.

Eli yawned like a black bear coming out of hibernation as he rubbed his reddened eyes. Last night wasn't too kind to him. After a late night shift at Alan's Autoshop, he had to stay up late to put the finishing touches on Mr. Marcy's analytical essay. For a first year maternity leave teacher, he was certainly committed to making the students' lives their own versions of hell. This fact, easily being backed up by the inevitable occurrence of a 'pop' quiz the next day.

He shook his head, while going to the small bathroom that the family of three shared. He clicked on the flickering radiant, making a mental note to himself that he needed to change the bulb. Eli took a moment to take in his own reflection, his mouth drawn into a straight line as he washed his face with tap water. He would have to wake up Emma for school soon. He ran his fingers through his hair, deciding that he still had some time to fix it up. Approaching the final moments of dental hygiene, he heard a pair of dainty feet shuffle out of the singular bedroom that the apartment beheld, and over into the living room to lay on the couch. He turned down the force of the water coming from the faucet, dimming his strokes down to gentle brushes against his teeth so that he could hear her heavy breath. Eli grinned, rinsing his mouth with a cup of mouthwash and placing his red toothbrush back into the convenient toothbrush holder that Emma made out of clay for Mothers' Day. He shuffled out of the bathroom, shutting the lights off behind him and approaching his sister with caution; as if he stepped too hard, he would rapture her peace. She was the face of innocence.

A small moan escaped her lips, as she clutched the edge of a pink and white polka dot blanket. She curled her body up into a ball, more vividly in what one would describe as the fetal position. Her eyes fluttered open dramatically, looking at her smiling big brother through adjusting pupils. She grinned back, an adorable yawn escaping her soon after. Eli wasted no time sitting her onto his lap and placing a kiss upon her head.

"Good morning Em," he greeted.

"Morning, Bubba," Emma responded.

Her voice was coarse, and dry. The usual enthusiasm that she discerned had lacked its certain flare. Nonetheless, he smiled, engulfing her into a genuine hug. She latched onto his torso area while he smoothed out her hair. He could feel her stomach growl ferociously in the embrace.

"Hungry?" he questioned her, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

The two broke the hug; leaving Emma to rest on the couch while Eli searched the cabinet for an unopened package of cinnamon flavored pop tarts. He inserted two into the toaster slots and pushed down on the left lever. He then went into the freezer and pulled out two waffles for himself, inserting them into the slots and pushing down on the right lever. He poured out a glass of milk and set it on a tablemat next to an empty plate. Pouring himself a glass of water, Eli heard his phone vibrate against the kitchen counter, a standard ringtone playing from its speakers. He rests his drink down next to the kitchen sink and walked across to retrieve his cellular device. Emma, who had made her way into her seat around the table, watched him with wide, childlike eyes. The screen lit up generously, illuminating block text.

 **From: Kara**

 **Morning. If you're free, I was wondering if you'd like to grab some fro-yo afterschool? My treat. :)**

Eli grinned, leaning himself against the counter as he carefully typed back a reply.

 **I'd like that. :)**

The abrupt popping of the toaster drew his attention away from the screen. He shoved his phone into the threshold of his jean's pocket and placed the hot pop tarts onto Emma's plate. She smiled a sign of appreciation before stuffing a chunk of pop tart into her mouth and quickly washing it down with milk. Soon after, his waffles popped up. He pulled a clean plate from the cabinet and placed his waffles on it, pulling out the syrup as well. Crumbs from the crust of the sugary product collected around the corners of Emma's mouth and her cheeks easily puffed up as she bit off more than she could chew. Eli laughed, going over to ruffle her brown mop of hair. He started to chew on his breakfast selection, keeping his eyes on the time to make sure that he didn't go over schedule.

"Is mom still asleep?" he questioned. He went to pick up Emma's plate and cup from off of the table as well as his own. Eli began to wash off the kitchen utensils while awaiting an answer.

Emma fidgeted awkwardly before delivering a response.

"No, she's fast asleep."

Eli nodded to himself as he finished off the last plate, drying it off with a towel and stacking it atop of another plate in the cabinet. He turned around while drying off his hands with a paper towel. Emma excused herself from the table to get dressed for the days events. She came back not too long after, in a white top, over a fluffy pink skirt. She held two bow-styled, pink scrunchies in her hand, approaching Eli with innocent eyes. He smiled, bringing her over to the couch and sitting her on his lap as he combed out her hair. He was easily able to style it into two small pigtails, going over to the door where a pair of worn down flats sat, bringing them over to her. He bent down on one knee, buckling the shoes into place. Emma blushed naturally, looking down in a hint of embarrassment. She wrung her hands together nervously, parting her light pink lips.

"The girls at school make fun of me," she mumbled. Eli slowed his pace, buckling the last shoe into place and standing up from his position.

"What do you mean Emma?" he asked cautiously. She shook her head, casting her line of sight away from her big brother.

"They say I wear the same shoes to school everyday."

Eli clutched his hands together, shutting his eyes tight. This was the last thing he would have hoped for her. He knew that the other kids there might've isolated her, just for being a new student there, but it surprised him that comical mean girls set their targets on her so fast. He attempted an optimistic smile, reaching his hand out to her to grace over her cheek. His words were soft.

"Emma, don't worry about them. With any kind of mean girl, or anyone who bullies anyone, there's always a reason for it. There is that sadness in them that makes them feel like they need to act out or hurt other people. They want to abuse you. Instead of allowing that, you can use them as your personal motivators. Don't let them win."

One would say that indulging in such a deep topic with a seven-year old would be too trivial and inappropriate for the younger one. That they wouldn't understand until they were older. But Emma understood. She understood perfectly as a matter of fact. He just wanted her to feel the confidence you get from being smart. He didn't want her to grow up surrounded by messages that told her that the most important thing is to be beautiful and wealthy. But since this was the way that society wrapped its influence into the minds of little girls, he wanted—no, he needed to ensure that she wasn't ashamed of who she was.

Emma grinned shyly, embracing Eli into a hug. She broke the hug soon after with Eli grasping her hand and leading them to the door where their bags waited. He tossed on his white sneakers, before unlocking the apartment door and entering the hallway. After waving to their neighbor, Mrs. Lopez who was tending to her window flowers, the two made their way into Eli's car. Eli, in the driver's seat, and Emma buckling herself into a booster seat situated in the back row. After buckling himself in and adjusting his rearview mirror, the two headed off towards Emma's elementary school.

* * *

 **Time: 6:35 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Student Parking Lot**

* * *

Adagio pulled into the driveway of the student parking lot, entering easily into his usual spot wedged between an always-empty handicap space, and where Stoner Charlie parked his moped. He relaxed into the driver's seat, finishing up a bagel he had snagged from the Loft, a popular hangout/restaurant watering hole for Wawanakwa students. At least he wasn't completely misleading when he told his father he would grab something on the way to school. Adagio opens the car door, wiping his hands off of crumbs onto the concrete pavement. He exits his car, closing the car door behind him and making sure to lock all entrances into the vehicle. Just as he began walking towards the front entrance of the school, Adagio could easily recognize Eli's car, pulling in about four parking spaces to the left of his own. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as a shield from the light autumn breeze. He stood in place, watching his best friend exit his vehicle. Eli spotted Adagio almost immediately, a small grin overcoming him. He took his backpack from out of the passenger seat and approached the catty eyed teen.

"Hey. Good to see you," Eli greeted. The conversation tone was as if they were old high school acquaintances that had just seen each other again at the fourth annual class reunion. Friendly, but distant. But with Adagio always at play rehearsal, and Eli occupied with Emma and work, the two had less than the amount of desired time to see each other. Adagio attempted a small smile, greeting him back with a similar tone, but what may have come out to be more sarcastic than he intended.

"Good to see you too."

Eli nodded, beginning a slow walk towards the entrance. Adagio took his place beside him.

"So, how's everything been going? We haven't talked much in person since orientation."

Eli cast his head down, taking in his friend's words. He was ashamed to say it, but it was true. Aside from a few text messages here and there and the first two football practices, the two rarely had time to hang out anymore. He thinks before he answers.

"I've been pulling through. Emma's been enjoying her new teachers so far. And my mom is in talks as a candidate for this promotion at her job."

When silence comes over them, he suddenly smiles to lighten the mood.

"Also, Mr. Marcy's essay kind of murdered my goddamn soul last night," he laughed.

Adagio's mouth upturned into something that was just passable as a smile.

"What did you do your paper on?" Adagio asked.

Eli sighs, stuffing his hands inside of his pockets. Taxing the Rich: Will placing higher taxes on the rich help the American economy? You?"

A smirk plated on Adagio's lips.

"Well, if I _did_ finish my essay last night, my topic would have been Physician Assisted Suicide: Should physician assisted suicide be legal?"

Eli nodded upon hearing his topic. He looked up to him, hazel eyes meeting a gold tinted green.

"How do you plan on getting yourself out of this one? The assignment is worth 120 points."

The teen scoffed, mock insulted that Eli even felt the need to ask that question. Hadn't he known him long enough?

"A good old fashion sob story will do the trick."

Adagio didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he pulled a white envelope from the front pocket of his backpack. He thrusts his hand out to Eli, gesturing him to take it with a subtle nod of the head.

Eli raises an eyebrow at him, slowly but surely taking the envelope from him. He looks at its front and back before looking back up to Adagio.

"What's this?" he asked.

Adagio clasped his hands together in front of himself.

"Your ticket to opening night of the play. All cast and crew members get one free ticket, and I want to give it to you."

Eli paused.

"So you're still going through with it? I thought Marco said—"

Adagio quickly cut him off.

"I don't care what Marco said. I'm going through with this for myself, and for Michael."

Eli nodded understandingly, listening intently but not interjecting. He knew it was all too sensitive for casual discussion.

"So," Adagio started. He subconsciously tightened the grip that a masculine hair accessory held on his Victorian ponytail.

"Are you up for hanging out after-school?" he finished.

Eli shook his head, a nervous hand going to rub his neck.

"I'm getting fro-yo with Kara before work," he said, a hint of guilt overcoming him. He hated telling him no, especially since their friendship had been hanging on a thread since school started.

"But, I'm sure you can come with us… if you'd like."

Adagio sighed, grateful that his friend was trying to include him in his plans with the girl he liked, but didn't adapt an appetite for taking on the roll of the inevitable third wheel today. Besides, he figured the two would probably want to be alone.

"No, that's alright," Adagio responded.

"Well, how does Thursday sound? We can hang out for a little while, then." Eli offered.

Adagio sighed once again, bringing his hand atop of his head.

"Can't. I have rehearsal until ten that night."

"Oh."

The two continued to walk on in momentary silence. Not awkward, fulfilling.

They approached the front doors into the main lobby. Adagio pushed a single, heavy door open as Eli began to speak again, keeping an optimistic nature about him.

"I'm sure we can find some-" But he stopped himself.

Eli's hazel eyes widened from the sight in front of him. His mouth hung open into an 'o' shape. It took Adagio a second to realize why his friend was caught so surprised, but open seeing what he had set his eyes on, his expression mirrored Eli's.

There, right before a crowd of unsuspecting students' eyes, the school's beloved poster sign of the Wawanakwa Academy gopher: defiled.

Spray-painted over it, a poorly constructed cartoonish, bass fish. In large letters, it is written, "Bass rule! Gopher's Drool! We reign supreme!"

Adagio had to blink twice. He looked over to Eli with certain knowingness in his eyes. They were back.

* * *

 **Time: 7:26 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Principal's Office**

* * *

"Chris, we have a problem!"

Blaineley stormed into Chris' office, a stern look upon her features. The latter mentioned, who had been occupied balancing a sharpened pencil in the space between his nose and lips, looked taken aback by the woman's outburst. He quickly took his feet off from atop his desk and sat up straight in his wheelie chair. Folding his hands together and straightening out his clover green tie, he looked up to his second in charge.

"What's going on Blaines?" he questioned.

Blaineley placed two firm hands on her hips. She started walking over to him. Her green heels clicked louder with each step.

"What's going on?" she questioned, throwing her hands up in the air.

"What do you mean what's going on? We're in the middle of a potential all out turf war and all you can say to me is, what's going on?!" her voice heightened. Chris raised an eyebrow at her, relaxing two hands behind his head. His facial expression told her that he had no clue as to a single thing that she was trying to get through to him. Blaineley groaned, clutching a fistful of dyed blonde hair in frustration.

"The poster in the main office has been completely vandalized by the school across town, and you're telling me that this doesn't faze you at all?"

Chris peeked an eye open at her as she set down multiple photos of the damage done, in front of him.

"Old Gophy?" Chris questioned, a childish tone to his voice.

Blainieley nodded reassuringly.

"Old Gophy."

Chris adjusted himself, flipping through the different photographs. He looks back up to Blaineley in discomfort.

"Why don't we just check the surveillance footage so we can put these capers to arrest?"

The question at hand was humorous to the woman. He was too idealistic.

"You don't think I thought about that? Whoever broke into the school last night obscured the view of all of the main lobby cameras. And since you were being stingy with the budget, we weren't able to access any audio to surveillance," she explained.

Chris nodded slowly, sucking on his pearly white teeth. He had now gone back to the position that he was in before Blaineley entered his office, his feet kicked onto the desk.

"Hm, I see. Well, no worries. We'll just get today's general detention students to clean up the mess. Bam, Gophy is good as new."

He smiled to her, but Blaineley looked unimpressed.

"Unfortunately, that's the least of our problems. These… hoodlums didn't just vandalize the poster, they also took to the football stadium."

This time, Blaineley placed a new set of pictures in front of him. The football stadium. The only difference, the damage done wasn't so minimal.

Close-up photos on the bleachers showed spray-painted and dented medal. The box office vandalized in different colored bass fishes. A photograph taken inside of the box office showed a collection of cut wires that used to connect the microphones to the sound system. And the last photograph, a zoomed out image of the whole turf field, which had been dug into, in various places. The result, about a dozen large ground holes; dirt seeping out from each atrocity.

Chris let out a low whistle, impressed at the amount of harm a supposedly rag-tag group of outlawed teens could do.

"Wow," he uttered.

"Yeah, wow. The field is ruined. We have to cancel all outdoor gym classes until we can get this damage prepared. This isn't even in our budget!" Blaineley fretted, clasping her forehead with the palm of her right hand.

"And how long do you think that's going to take?" Chris asked.

"I don't know, at least a couple of months. And that doesn't even begin to cease our worries. The fall pep rally is scheduled to take place on Saturday night. What are we going to do with no field? We either cancel the pep rally or…" she trailed.

Chris sat up from his position, looking to the Vice Principal skeptically.

"Or what?"

A sly smirk easily grew on her features.

"Or, we can go to the culprits themselves."

"What do you mean?"

Blaineley rolled her eyes, going to adjust the chopsticks that were holding her hair into a messy bun.

"According to the master district calendar. Pahkitew High is planning to have their pep rally this Saturday too. Since they're the ones who got us into this mess, they can get us out. I suggest I reach out to their principal and discuss the possibility of a joint pep rally on their field. We split the time, half and half to commemorate our athletes and then they can commemorate theirs."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head lightly to her.

"That's all great in theory Blaineley, but do you really think the kids would be up for working in harmony with the same people who vandalized their school? Fat chance!"

She was already searching for the school's contact information.

"It's either that, or no pep rally at all. We're doing this for the kids McLean," she huffed.

Chris sighed, running his hand over his face. He leaned his wheeled chair backwards so that he could get a better view of the plain ceiling.

"Okay, if you can get the principal at Pahkitew to agree, then I'm on board as well. Although I don't think-"

He was interrupted with the sound of a chime coming from the computer in the room.

Blaineley smiled, rushing over to it and clicking on what appeared to be an email. Her eyes quickly scanned over it as she mumbled and mashed the words together. She turned to Chris eagerly, folding her arms across her torso.

"Seems like they're already on board."

Well that was fast. Chris nodded.

"So, what do we do now?"

Blaineley approached the door to the principal's office, pushing it slightly ajar. She turned to Chris one last time.

"Get the word out to the sports' teams, and hope not to crash and burn," she said before sashaying out of the room.

* * *

 **Time: 10:34 a.m.**

 **Place: the Loft**

* * *

Scar pushed open the front door to the popular hangout, allowing his accompaniment to enter first. Albina trudged into the building, plopping herself down into an empty seat. She turned her head and crossed her legs over one another, refusing to look at Scar as he ordered them two smoothies. It was only until she felt him sit himself down across from her that she bothered to look.

"Well, we're here. Now what?" she grumbled.

"Now, we're going to talk. Why'd you get so upset with me on Tuesday?" he questioned.

Albina shakes her head feverishly.

"It's nothing really. I'm over it, and you should be too," she huffed.

Scar looked at her skeptically just as the waiter brought them their drinks and rested two covered straws in the middle of their table. Albina turned her nose up at the raspberry flavored drink, pushing it away form her.

"Albina, if you were over it, you wouldn't be this upset. And, you definitely wouldn't be rejecting this smoothie right now. Raspberry's your favorite." He explained.

She sighed, uncrossing her legs and turning her body fully towards Scar.

"So, are you going to tell me what this is really about?"

Albina rested her head on her fist.

"Samantha. You've been hanging out with her a lot lately. And you _know_ she's my mortal enemy, Scar. She's batshit evil! How could you do this to me?"

It was hard to believe, but beyond her hard exterior, she looked genuinely hurt. Scar felt uncomfortable under her glare. He played with his thumbs awkwardly, guilt overcoming him. He sees the look on his best friend's face and hates that he's the one who put it there.

"Albina, I didn't know you felt so strongly about this. We've just been working together on this big Glee club assignment that she has. It was a deal we made. If I helped her with the music arrangement, I could use her vocals on my next demo. That's all. Albina, I didn't mean to—" he rambled.

She nodded, stopping him in the middle of his sentence. She shook her head, folding her hands together in front of him.

"I know, I know. It's just… seeing the way you two became close." She looks down for a moment, nervously biting her pale pink lips.

"Scar, d-do you… do you _like_ Samantha?" She looked at him with fleeting eyes, sipping on the raspberry smoothie to take her attention off of anticipating his response.

Scar smiled, stroking his chin playfully.

"Not even close to how much I like you, if that's what you really wanted to know."

He pushes her shoulder playfully as a blush grows on her cheeks.

"That's good to know," she replied.

Scar pulled out his wallet, taking a few dollars from it and putting it under the paper check that came with the drinks. Albina smiled, taking in more of the smoothie. The two left their empty glasses on the table, leaving the Loft shortly afterwards to make it back in time for the next period in school.

* * *

 **Time: 11:13 a.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Cafeteria**

* * *

Word of the newly decided joint pep-rally spread around the school like wildfire by the end of third period. With Mr. McLean's big mouth, it was no surprise that every clique down to the stoners knew about what was supposed to go down on Saturday night. And, just as the infamous man predicted, the students were indulged in social havoc.

"This is complete bullshit!" Liam raved from the jock table. He gritted his teeth, running his fingers through his warm brown hair styled into a faux hawk. His jungle green T-shirt, though speculated not to be possible, strung tighter along his muscles as usual.

The entire football team huddled around a single section of the table as all of the sports' teams had decided to do.

"How does McLean expect us to just make nice to the people who wrecked our field?" one of the cornerbacks commented. A few mumbles of agreement followed.

"And what about practice? Coach says we're going to have to use that crappy field down at the golf course. The fucking golf course!"

Even more cacophony.

Adagio watched the team go up into flames of disagreement. He rolled his eyes whilst looking down to pick at his nails. He too had his fair share of history with Pahkitew over the past few years, but all this commotion over… nothing? He didn't think it was worth it.

"I say we hit 'em back, you know? Go mess with a few of their things. And then we'll see who's really supreme," Liam commanded.

The majority of the guys nodded in agreement, a chorus of 'yeah,'s and 'let's do it's following shortly afterwards.

"Guys, guys," Eli announced from his seat at the table. The team quieted down to look at their esteemed quarterback.

"Look, we don't have to go to their school and pull the same shit just to prove a point. Why stoop down to their level? We're better than that," he tried to comply.

Liam groaned, the buttons on his shirt becoming undone.

"So, you just want us to sit here and do nothing? You know they'll be back with more," a linebacker retaliated.

Eli shook his head. "That's not necessarily what I'm saying. We shouldn't play fire with fire. We'll just end up with a bigger fire. I say we stay on the defensive for now, and hopefully this whole thing will blow over by the start of the season."

Liam let out a sarcastic laugh, less than impressed with the plan. "And if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't…" Eli started.

Adagio looked up from his nails, looking to Liam in annoyance.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Eli is right. We shouldn't be so eager to jump into an all out prank war. You guys remember what happened two years ago? That was our strike two. If things ever get that far again, then both of us are out of the championship and we can kiss that big ass prize money goodbye. Is that what you want?" His voice was stern and warning with a hint of remorse, but it sure shut everyone up. Liam looked away, his shirt completely undone with his bare chest and abdomen exposed. He looked back to Eli, not daring to meet gazes with Adagio.

"Alright, we'll do it your way Greyson. But the second your plan fails, we're all in," he warned.

Eli smiled nodding his head to his teammate. He goes to shake his hand the second the bell rings. As the team dispersed, Eli watched Adagio throw his trash away from lunch and make it back over to the table.

"Hey, thanks for having my back," Eli says to him.

Adagio nods, adjusting the inconsistent length of the shoulder straps on his backpack.

"Don't mention it," he mumbled. Adagio couldn't help but wonder if Liam only backed down because the team still viewed him as some sort of wounded animal. He was the source of a pity party, and he hated it. He hated the way they looked at him and went along with whatever he said. Not just Liam, but his teachers, Coach, his friends.

Adagio shook his head from the thought, pushing politely past his best friend and towards the student courtyard. Ms. Kizzek would have to miss him for art class today.

* * *

 **Time: 11:48 a.m.**

 **Place: the Student Courtyard**

* * *

Adagio sat contently under a tree, his sketchbook sitting on his lap, and a graphite drawing pencil making gentle strokes against the rough paper. He sighs, tapping the utensil against his chin. He breathes, throwing his head against the tree. The birds living amongst the high treetops chirp enormously amongst themselves and suddenly he yearns for complete peace and quiet. He gets up from the ground, brushing off his jeans and takes a seat farther away from the noise at the table that seemed to inhabit the less left over trash from the lunch period. Adagio adjusts himself on the cold metal seat before continuing on in his sketch.

"Wow, you are extremely talented."

Adagio almost jumped when he heard the voice resonate from behind him. He clutched his sketchbook to his chest, whipping his head around to meet the owner.

To his surprise, he was met with a 6'2" and muscular male with pale blue eyes. He had a messy ombre blonde and black faux hawk with the sides cut. He had a very strong and defined jawline along with light tan skin. The teen had both his ears pierced with diamond studs, his septum pierced and noticeably, on his left bicep, a tattoo of a heart with angel wings. On his neck, a selection of dog tags. Adagio had to blink twice. Instead of lashing out at the guy for nearly giving him a hard attack, he nodded to him.

"Thank you," he mumbled, turning back to his work.

Any socially cautious person would have taken this as an open invitation to leave, but unfortunately for Adagio, this was not a socially cautious person. He leaned in for a closer look at his work, placing one hand on the table next to Adagio and another hand on his hip.

"That's a portrait of Jane Austen right?" he questioned, a lively glint in his eye.

Adagio looked down onto his unfinished sketch, to see exactly that. He figured that after smooth talking his way out of a zero for Mr. Marcy's essay, and paying off his sources to ultimately do the assignment for him, he could throw in a little 'extra credit' artistic representation work. Portraits weren't really Adagio's thing, and if he would have opted for free reign, the picture would have come out a bit more abstract then something so cut and paste. But, Mr. Marcy, for use of metaphor was a square. There was nothing un-molded about him. If this was what's going to impress him for that extra boost, then certainly Adagio could make an exception. It was only until the boy tilted his head cutely to the side, that Adagio was snapped out of his trance. The boy smiles at him, and suddenly Adagio feels like he's being preheated in an oven at three hundred and fifty degrees.

"Ah, yes. This is Jane Austen. Are you a fan?" Adagio answers.

The guy smiled, taking a seat next to Adagio.

"Yeah. I'm a huge fan of her work. It's not too masculine to admit that, but I do just fine."

He smiles at Adagio before holding out a quick hand.

"I'm Andy, by the way."

Andy. The name didn't quite ring a bell. Adagio looks to his hand, going to shake it slowly.

He starts, "I'm—"

He is cut off by the sound of Andy's laugh.

"Oh, I _know_ who you are."

Adagio looks at him with an expression that could only be translated as confusion. Upon realizing that he was being stared at, Andy suppressed his laughter, clearing his throat in the process.

"I mean, not that I stalk you or anything. I mean, uh, my sister. She's in stage crew for the fall production. She's a freshman this year, and each time she comes home from rehearsal, she talks about how great of an actor this Adagio DiVagleo guy is. I think you inspire her."

Andy grinned widely. Adagio looked taken aback. He was surprised to hear that not any and all chatter revolving around him was associated with what happened with Michael. Although, taking into account that this girl was just a freshman. Still, he inspired her.

Adagio nods to Andy, smiling only slightly.

"I'm glad to hear," he replied.

Andy began to play with the tags on his neck chain.

"Well, you know what they say about acting, and by 'they' I mean Johnny Depp…"

A humorous grin tugged at the corner of Adagio's mouth as he continued sketching.

"With any part you play, there is a certain amount of yourself in it."

Andy stands up to collect his backpack that he had rested in the grass at his arrival.

"I'm interested to see a little more of you on opening night, Adagio."

He doesn't wait for a response. He just walks towards the entrance leading back into the school, turning around so he could face him one more time; a smirk evident on his features.

"I'll definitely be seeing you around."

With a small two-fingered salute, he's off into the hallway.

Adagio watches him off, only turning back to his sketch when he can no longer see him. He finishes off the portrait, quickly stuffing his sketchbook back into his bag and slumping over in his seat. He let out a sigh and shut his eyes tight, hoping to drown out the now apparent increasing chatter of the birds.

* * *

 **Time: 2:43 p.m.**

 **Place: the Loft**

* * *

"Okay, we have a Honey Vanilla Greek for the sir, and a Key Lime Bar with extra blueberries for the beautiful lady," Eli finishes, placing a tray down on the table.

Each selection came with a small green spoon, covered in plastic for eating purposes. Eli looked down at Kara with a smile on his face. The latter who had her head placed in her hands. She grinned back at Eli while he was taking the seat across from her, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Thank you," she says.

The two release their spoons from their plastic coverings, playfully clicking their cups together in mock cheers before beginning to eat.

Eli looks up at Kara who was finishing off her yogurt rather lethargically. He raised a concerned eyebrow at her, momentarily resting his spoon in his yogurt cup.

"Hey, is everything alright?" he asked her.

Kara nodded, taking another bite out of the dairy treat. She focuses her green eyes on him.

"Yeah, I'm just a little caught up in this whole pep rally fiasco, you know?"

Eli nodded understandingly. He collects more of his frozen yogurt into his spoon.

"What's going on, Kar?"

She sighs before speaking.

"The team is really on edge about going to Pahkitew High. Last year at Nationals, we nearly lost to their team by half a point. And now that we've lost a good chunk of our team to graduation, we're afraid that they'll pull some sort of stunt to show us up," she moaned.

Eli sighed, going to place his hand sympathetically to rest atop of hers.

"Don't say that. I've seen you guys cheer before. You were unbelievably talented."

She shakes her head.

"Yeah, we _were_. Now, we're completely out of synch with one another. Individually, everything's there, but we can't seem to wrap our heads around working together as a team. And I know, that once we get to the school, everyone is going to torment me about- "

She stops herself before she can say more, mumbling a 'nothing', afterwards

Eli looked down to the table, deciding not to press into the issue. He thinks of what to say next.

"Well, I know that if anyone can pull together a kick ass cheer team, it's you," he grins.

Kara giggles, digging her spoon back into what remained of her treat. She smiles, looking back up to him.

"Oh really? And why is that?"

His grin gets wider as he rubs his thumb in circles on the surface of her hand.

"Because you're incredible."

Kara lets a laugh escape her lips at his cheesiness.

"You're sweet," she says.

They both put their empty cups back onto the tray, and Eli goes to throw their trash out. He returns to the table empty handed and grins at Kara.

"So, how are the guys on the football team taking the news?"

Eli fidgets, rubbing his neck nervously. He has a flashback to their lunch conversation and cringes from the memory.

"Some are taking it better than others," he mutters.

Kara gave him a knowing look.

"Okay, I don't think anyone is taking it that well. They want revenge, actually."

Kara furrowed her brows together, signaling Eli to say more.

"I understand their concern. We don't want to be viewed as a team that can easily be taken advantage of. But then again, we don't want to come off as aggressive," he explained.

Kara folded her arms over each other.

"What did you say, then?"

"I told them that we should play it on the defense. Attacking them is just going to make this whole situation worse. We can get kicked out of the championships if we're caught in an act like that. This is the safest bet."

He pauses, running his fingers nervously through his hair. He feel insecure with himself.

"Did I make the right choice?"

Kara thinks for a moment, before nodding slowly to him.

"I think you did what's best for your team. Better safe than sorry." She then smiles.

"It's nice that you guys are deciding to be the bigger team about this. You made the right choice, as a leader should. Don't worry about it."

Eli grinned back, taking her hand into his. She blushes, biting girlishly at her lip. Eli is about to say something else until the two hear Kara's phone buzz. She retracts her hand from his, muttering an apology before taking out her device. Eli watched her gape at the notification on her phone, her face setting in to shock.

"What's wrong, Kara?" he asked her.

Kara sighed, the hand not holding her phone going to clutch her forehead.

"Looks like our friend Esther, just posted something new on her blog."

Eli looked at Kara, wide-eyed, hoping that she was just kidding at his expense. But when she showed him her phone, and the article title, " _Pahkitew vs. Wawanakwa: Bass Rule, Gophers Drool?!_ ", his face drops.

Eli moved his chair in closer to get a better look.

 _October 20._

 _This just in: fresh, hot and juicy drama to start the school year off right! Inside sources tell me that Wawanakwa got more than the morning announcements to keep them on their toes today! Looks like a bunch of Pahkitew High pranksters left their mark on good 'ol Gophy. And not only that, but they totally wrecked the field! Pics of the damage are attached below. Now I don't know about you cats, but if I went to Wawanakwa, I'd be looking for some hardcore revenge right about now. In fact, by the severity of the wreck, I was excepting a little something by the end of the school day. But, nothing! Is Wawanakwa actually chickening out? OR is what their planning bigger than what we could ever expect? Talk about suspense! And get this, because their field is wrecked, Principal Kendall agreed to let them_ _share_ _their pep rally with us, this Saturday night. Like, Oh Em Barf! Well, at least it'll make for steamy drama! I'll be there. Will you? Make sure to subscribe to the blog for updates on this week's pending story. What's to come of this rivalry? Will Wawanakwa ever strike back?! What do you think? Leave your comments below!_

 _This is Esther H. signing off!_

Eli looked sick to his stomach as Kara withdrew her phone from him, shoving it back into her bag. They didn't even bother to look at the comment section in fear of worsening the already damp mood.

"She's at this shit again?" Eli complained. He tensed up from just thinking about how childish she was being. Kara placed a supporting hand on his shoulder, rubbing it tenderly in hopes of easing his worries.

"Hey, don't stress yourself out about this. You know Esther; she talks a big game. Like you said, we should just take it easy. We don't have to succumb to this. Not this year."

Eli nodded, unconvincingly. He relaxed a little from her words, but still worried that someone would take Esther's post as a challenge, and do something that they would later regret. He smiled, only as to reassure her that he was okay.

"You're right," he said.

Kara brushed a piece of hair out of her face, leaning over to place a kiss on his temple. She needed to get his mind off of this.

"We have about forty five minutes until you have to head off to work. Do you wanna head up to the arcade and try out that new skeeball machine?" she offered.

Eli nodded, a smirk growing on his face.

"Of course. But, if I win, you have to let me take you out to that Mexican place that I've been dying to try."

Kara nods, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

"Hm, very tempting. But, _when_ I win, you have to let me cook for you one of these weekends."

Eli grinned, standing up from his seat at the table.

"Sounds like a plan," he replied to her.

The two shook on it, sharing a laugh as they traveled up to the second floor of the building.

* * *

 **Time: 5:17 p.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Football Stadium**

* * *

The stadium looked like something that crawled out of the lagoon. Behind the worn down bleachers, a small group of teenage boys discussed amongst themselves; most dressed in coats for the purpose of shielding against the autumn wind and precipitation.

"Please remind me why I hauled my ass over here, just to be standing in the freezing rain," Brian, one of the guys complained. He leaned against the graffiti wall, finishing off a cigarette.

A silhouette approached the group, a black hood covering his hair. He looked down to the floor, hiding his facial features from them. It was only until the guy was at a reasonable distance from, that the group was able to recognize him as Liam.

"Finally ya show up. How are you gonna be the one to call the meeting, and be the last one to arrive?" another guy criticized.

Liam shook his head, pulling his hood down from off of his brown hair.

"I needed to make sure there was no one around to see us. Alright, huddle up."

The teens formed themselves into a huddle circle.

"Okay, so I think we all know what this is about. The Pahkitew pussies think that they can just push us around whenever the hell they want. I say, we set them straight," Liam explained.

There were a few mumbles that followed, more of approval than disagreement.

Brian spoke again, rolling his eyes in the process.

"I thought we already settled this. Eli said we need to—"

Another guy on the team spoke up.

"It doesn't matter what Eli said. This is nothing against him. We just need to do this for us. Are we going to sit here and wait for their next attack? Just as Esther's blog said? Or are we going to stand up to them like the team I know we are?"

A silence came over the group as they all exchanged glances with one another.

"Listen, if we're going to go through with this. We need to make sure that Eli and Adagio don't know about this. I only contacted you guys because I knew you wouldn't squeal," Liam concluded.

"Why can't Adagio know?" another voice asked.

"He's Eli's best friend. There's no way he could keep this a secret from him. Plus, he probably wouldn't be down for it anyway."

They all mumbled in agreement.

"So, are you guys in?" Liam questioned them.

They all hesitated, but eventually everyone in the group nodded in their contract of participation. Liam grinned, drawing in closer to them.

"Alright, here's the plan…"

* * *

 **Hiya guys! I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Please make sure to leave a review. They really help. Just an announcement. Starting with next chapter, I am moving the story's rating up to M for reasons of language and nsfw themes. So, if you happen to be someone who checks for updates on the Total Drama fanfic page, you know that the default rating that they show you is K – T. Therefore, when I update, the story will only be shown on the page if you change the rating to 'All'. If this is the case, then I advise following the story so that you can get notifications on when I update, if you don't already do so, and/or don't regularly change the default rating. That's all from me. Thank you for reading! Until next time!**


	9. Teen Spirit: Bonus

**A/N: I know I don't usually put an author's note at the beginning of the chapter, but this was important. First, I apologize for taking so long with updating. Recently, I've been swamped with a lot of work due to school coming back up. Secondly, the reason that this is a bonus and not part 2, is because I have a certain vision in mind of what I want part 2 to entail. But doing all of this would result in a longer wait. I think I've made you guys wait long enough. This is something short and sweet until I can get the official part 2 out. I hope you all will still enjoy. Thank you for your patience.**

* * *

Chapter 9: Teen Spirit (Bonus)

* * *

 **Date: Friday, October 22**

 **Time: 2:30 p.m.**

 **Place: the Smith Residence**

* * *

It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale. The tints of autumn, a mighty flower garden blossoming at the three fold windowsill, under the spell of the enchanter frost. A heavy rain pounding down onto its fragile petals. It fell in sheets, a blanket of silvery thread rushing to the ground. Jordan observed the scene through polished glass, his head resting in the palms of his hand. The weight of his eyelids blinking down slowly to shield his brown orbs from catching every waking moment. Smooth jazz music played not too far away from the radio in the kitchen, accompanied by a sizzling pan. Feelings aroused by the smell of seasoned meat on the burner. Next to it, a pot of lemon rice, kept warm on a low setting; a small congratulations dinner for making the soccer team. Jordan heard the sound of the stove clicking off. An item of silverware clanked against a hunk of metal. Jordan heard his friend pull out three plates from the cabinet, bringing them over onto the small wooden kitchen table. He always did this when he came over. Scratch that, he always insisted on doing this when he came over. Jordan adjusted himself onto the couch in the living room when he heard a pair of footsteps coming towards him. The feet stopped right to the side of where Jordan relaxed; his feet scuffed the surface of the rug.

"Are you ready to eat?"

Jordan shook his head, adverting his eyes to focus on a burning, table-side lamp.

"Not right now, Gyro."

A pause overwhelmed the two, and Jordan's heartbeat began to quicken.

"Okay. I'm going to call Ariana… see if she's hungry."

Jordan nodded slowly, wrapping his arms over the back of the couch. He spread his legs more and puffed out his chest in a fashion that made him appear more powerful. Gyro traced his brown orbs on him before stomping up the short staircase, once again scuffing his feet against the thick carpet.

The smell of his favorite meal overwhelmed him, an appetizing selection of steamy chicken breast with a side of rice. No doubt Gyro had also taken it upon himself to whip up a pitcher of his favorite iced tea. Jordan exhaled, his stomach deflating to parallel his chest. He studied his reflection in the blank television screen in front of him.

Gyro returned easily down the steps, a clunk in every step that he took. Jordan smirked, remembering a conversation that the two had had over summer. If the two of them were to ever become spies, Gyro would be the first to be caught. Back then, the two took the subject lightly, but now, Jordan felt less than comfortable bringing the thought to his best friend's attention. Ariana scampered behind him, her slim feet carrying her all the way to the couch. She plopped herself down in the seat next to her older brother and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jordan couldn't help but smile.

"Hey Ari," he greeted.

Ariana mumbled, nodding against his bare arm.

"Are you coming to eat?" she responded to him.

He looked down to his sister with a raised eyebrow, and then up to Gyro who stood with his hands on his hips. Jordan chuckled.

"Of course I am, Ari. You two go ahead. I'll catch up with you in a bit."

Ariana smiled, rushing off of the couch and running to the small kitchen area. She too, scuffed her naked feet against the carpet, a habit that both her and Gyro shared.

Gyro put his hands down from his hips, resting them at his side.

"Don't take too long, or I might just eat your food," he joked, a grin on his features.

Jordan, stared at the empty television screen, in reality finding no emptiness, but a different perspective. He could see Gyro's back, turned away from him. He smiled, seeing his blue jersey tucked neatly into his faded blue jeans.

"Of course."

With a nod, he was off, following Ariana in her path.

Jordan grinned, flashing his pearly whites at his reflection. We always see our worst selves. Our most vulnerable selves. The pessimist resembles a man who observes with fear and sadness that his wall calendar, from which he daily tears a sheet, grows thinner with each passing day. Jordan didn't want to be that man. After all that he had been through back in the United Kingdom, how could he? He wanted to be like a man who removes each successive leaf from his calendar and files it neatly and carefully away with its predecessors. He can reflect with pride and joy on all the riches set down in these notes, on all the life he has already lived to the fullest. He had shed his skin and it was the best feeling in the world.

He tore his eyes away from the television screen, drawing his body up from the couch and making his way to the kitchen.

* * *

 **Time: 2:43 p.m.**

 **Place: Aspen Mall**

* * *

"Okay, what do you ladies think of… this one?"

Forsythia, emerging from a changing room curtain struck a fierce modeling pose. Her right hand crooked behind her head; her left resting on her hip. She wore a deep V-neck blouse colored in an assortment of random patterns consisting of green, blue, beige, and yellow. Draped over her shoulders was a thick, business like checkered beige jacket. She wore a column shaped checkered beige pencil skirt. On her feet, a pair of tacky mismatched black flats. Forsythia's dark red hair was done up neatly into a bun held together by a pair of slim chopsticks. She also sported a pair of faux reading glasses, hanging low on the bridge of her nose.

The three girls who seated themselves in front of her: Smith, Claira, and Dove, all dealt out a series of claps.

"Wowee," Smith laughed, gradually subsiding her claps.

Forsythia stood tall and proud, now placing both hands upon her hips. She gave the girls a curtsey, a proud smile shaping over her features.

"It's hideous right?" she gave a grand gesture with her hands, turning onto her heels to stare into the mirror. The teenage girl's hands immediately shot to pat down a few loose strands of her hair.

"'Syth, you look like a crinkled, crusty, bag of an old lady," Dove commented. The plus size blonde rest her hands down onto the armrests of her chair.

"I know! It's just perfect!" Forsythia squealed. She clasped her hands together in front of her.

"Let's just hope McLean thinks so too. You're going to rock opening night Syth, no doubt about it. I…" Smith started.

Forsythia furrowed her eyebrows together in the mirror. She was adjusting her skirt when she heard Smith stop speaking in her tracks. She pushed a few strands of her red hair behind her ear, her back still turned to the peanut gallery of girls.

"You what? What were you going to say, Smith?"

She focused on the taller girl behind her from the reflection that the mirror cast. Smith had a nervous smile on her face. Her shoulders were scrunched up to her ears.

"Nothing. It's not important," she jumbled her words together.

Forsythia wasn't buying it one bit. If the rushed tendency of her voice didn't give it away, Smith was never a good liar to begin with.

The petite red-head whipped her head around to be met with the back of all three girls' heads. She quirked an eyebrow at them, following their gazes up to a group of teenage boys who had just entered the store. Forsythia could easily recognize them as the incoherent group of boys that sat behind her in AP European History. Those brutes.

The leader of the Neanderthals, Josh Johnson, pointing an accusing finger in her direction. His posse shared a laugh. Smith turned back to face Forsythia, seeing her friend's narrowing eyes upon the crowd of males.

"'Syth, don't worry about what they're saying. That doesn't matter. We-"

But Forsythia refused to back down. She placed both of her gloved hands firmly upon her hips, marching down off of the platform; her black flats clanked against the floor until she was at arm's length from the group. Forsythia plastered on the fakest smile she could muster.

"Why hello Josh," she greeted to teen at the forefront.

"Hello Josh's insignificant lackeys," she nodded sweetly to the rest of them. "Why do I have the honor to be graced by your presence on this fine day?"

Her voice dripped in sarcasm. As if having to deal with them today in class wasn't enough.

"Hello Sahythia," Josh sneered, displaying his yellowed teeth.

Her mouth was drawn into a thin line. "It's Forsythia."

Josh rolled his eyes, immediately waving her off with his hand. "Whatever." He then smirked, maliciously as his cronies started whispering behind him.

"That's a nice girdle you have on there, really brings out the inner you."

He smirked, high fiving one of his friends behind him.

Forsythia retaliated, her smile never leaving her face.

"Take that mask off Josh. Halloween isn't until _next_ week." She then gasped, placing a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, my apologies. That's just your face."

Claira and Dove who were watching the scene from afar both gasped incredulously. On the other hand, Smith cackled amusingly from her seat.

Josh scoffed, cooly attempting to brush off the insult.

"Wh-whatever, man." He looked her up and down very accusingly before turning himself away.

The scene was drawn straight out of the 1961 version of West Side Story. Josh snapped his fingers, swaggering off farther into the mall while his cronies followed after him with the same synchronized steps.

Forsythia smirked, watching them cower off. She flipped her hair over her shoulder before strutting back over to the group of girls.

Smith stood up, her bright red bob shimmering in the store lights. She smiled at Forsythia before starting a slow clap.

"Oh my gosh, Syth. That was amazing."

Forsythia curtseyed, holding both sides of her pencil skirt.

"Thank you. I'm used to dealing with beasts like them anyway."

Claira grinned, biting her lip. Her fingers twiddled around with the locket around her neck. She had noticeably been the most silent of the three girls.

"Well, we need to get these items to checkout. I'll be back, ladies."

And then she retreats back into the changing rooms.

Dove turned in her waiting seat, her curly hair blonde hair parted, one side over her shoulder and the other side positioned in front of her.

"So, are you ladies excited for the pep rally tomorrow night?" she questioned.

Dove tilted her head sweetly to the side.

Claira hummed to herself.

"Well, I have to go for cheer. So, that'll definitely be fun. But…" She twirled her hair around her left pointer finger.

"…awkward because it'll be at Pahkitew."

Smith nodded in agreement. "Extremely awkward. But who knows, maybe bringing us together will finally end this stupid rivalry, you know?"

Claira had to stifle a laugh. "I sure hope so."

"I'm not in a sport myself, but I'll definitely be there to support you and Syth," Smith explained.

Dove shifted to the side. "I wish I could go guys. But, I have a family outing tomorrow night."

Claira blinked slowly, looking at Dove with a grin. "Of course. Although… I didn't know Forsythia was involved in a sport. She doesn't strike me as the sporty girl in any circumstance."

Smith shrugged. "She's on the tennis team."

Dove covered her mouth, chuckling into her palm. "Really? But she hates getting all sweaty."

"Still, Forsythia has always been one who loved to get involved," Claira interjected.

Just as she finished up the sentence, Forsythia made her way out of the dressing room. She pushed the curtain open, now dressed in her trademark school clothing.

"Alright ladies, we're ready to go."

Dove stood up, taking her standard Tinkerbell outfit that was draped over her seat, around her arm. Claira had her own ensemble picked out as well: a classic blue floor length dress and a matching, large hair bow for her role of Wendy.

The four girls made their way to the cashier to make their purchases.

* * *

 **Time: 3:22 p.m.**

 **Place: Aspen Park**

* * *

The rain sounded like a drum, beating on the waterproof fabric of his forest green umbrella. His feet stood stagnant, glued into the sticky mud surface. Adagio hated the fact that the mixture was rising into his ankle boots, creating the gross effect of wet socks. But still, he stayed and waited for him. His left knee popped out as his tinted eyes searched the darkening sky. The cascade of thick greenery surrounding reminded him of the forest clearing: a little too vividly. He stuffed the hand that wasn't holding the umbrella handle upright into the left pocket of his faded jeans. His hands were a little too eager to search and he ended up hissing, withdrawing his hand back when he cut his finger on the medal of the BIC brand lighter that he had.

"Fuck," he cursed, shaking his hand off.

Adagio sighed, reaching his hand back inside of his pocket, this time, cautiously. He reached for the body of the appliance, pulling it out and holding it in front of him. With his thumb, he flicked it open, the flame that was generated casting a reflection in his pupils. On and off, he flicked the device. He was never one to harbor an addiction, let at lone a love for fire; it was just something to distract himself from the clearing. There are a hundred things he has tried to chase away the things he won't remember and that he can't even let himself think about because that's when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in his mind it's always raining a slow and endless drizzle.

Adagio perked his head up, hearing footsteps slosh their way towards him. He closed his lighter cover, never looking down to stuff it back into his pocket. Instead, his hand rested on the side of his hip.

The teen male who approached him had his shoulders hunched over. He wore a pair of baggy, blue jeans, and worn out black converse. To complete his look was a large, long-sleeved dark purple sweatshirt. The hood was pulled up over his signature knotty purple beanie, and Adagio recognized his distinct light brown bowl haircut covering his forehead and some of his vision. He placed his feet sternly in front of Adagio with an attempt to flip his hair out of his eyes.

Adagio rolled his eyes. "Stoner Charlie. To what do I owe this honor?" His tone dripped with sarcasm.

Charlie smirked, kicking his feet into the ground.

"Very funny DiVagleo. But, listen up. I have some information that you may find to be of value to you. But I ain't work cheap…"

He quirked an eyebrow in Adagio's direction, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to emphasize the moola requested.

Adagio sneered, scrunching his nose up at Charlie's immediate desperate attempt.

"Info first, and then you'll get your cash. And make it quick. I have to go to rehearsal." He narrowed his eyes at the boy, wondering why he wasn't so concerned that he was getting soaked from the pouring rain.

"Alright, listen up 'cause I'm only gonna say this shit once."

Stoner Charlie moved in closer to Adagio.

"So, word on the street is there's going to be some hard ass shade going on at the pep rally tomorrow."

Adagio scoffed, rolling his eyes and running his hand through his hair.

"You expect me to pay you for _that_? Tell me something I don't know."

Stoner paused to dig a dusty toothpick out of his pocket. He blew on it to get rid of the dust and then held it between his teeth, chewing on the wood.

"I wasn't finished man."

Adagio gave him a nod that told him he had the floor.

"Alright, so the guys on the football team are planning something nasty. They're turning the tables on this bitch. Since Pahkitew tried to come after them, _they're_ taking the shots this time."

Adagio sighed. He should've known that Liam's promise wasn't at all sincere. That damn pretty boy…

"Any specifics?"

Stoner shook his head with a smirk. "Hey, I don't know all that man. Just know, you should be on the lookout for any… fishy behavior per say."

Adagio pursed his lips to the side, focusing on a tree stump behind Charlie and in his line of vision.

"Is that all?"

Stoner shrugged, extending his palms out.

"Take it or leave it bro. You guys might be in some deep doodoo by Sunday morning."

Adagio nodded, looking down at his ankle boots. The water had risen to cover the welt of his shoes.

He grumbled, pulling his wallet out of his right pocket, easily locating a pretty five-dollar bill. He stuffed it into Stoner's hand as a wicked grin came about the slouched boy.

"What do you plan on doing with that?" Adagio mumbled. He had a feeling that he already knew the answer to that question. It's what the boy was notorious for spending his money on.

The rain started to ease up on them.

Stoner crumpled the dollar bill into his pocket.

"What I do with my cash is none of your business."

He started to turn on his heels, only looking over his shoulder momentarily.

"But I'll see you around, DiVagleo."

And then he was off.

Adagio groaned, picking his feet off of the mud surface. He silently sloshed his way out of the forest and towards where he parked his car.

* * *

 **Time: 3:25 p.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; School Library**

* * *

Liam tapped a fairly used Ticonderoga #2 pencil against his noggin, staring down the question on the paper. His tongue was being squished between the top and bottom row of his teeth, his eyes narrowed in thought.

"Okay, what do you have to do first?" Nahliel's voice surfaced through.

The noticeably less buff, but more intelligent boy hovered over him, looking at the blank paper in desperation. To think that the future of his mathematic credentials rested in the hands of this boy...

"Come on, Liam. You know this. Think."

Liam grumbled, grasping the pencil properly into his right hand. He lowered the utensil onto the paper and drew two diagonal lines to connect both sides of the equation.

"Cross multiply?" he asked, looking up, hopefully, into Nahliel's green eyes.

The boy lit up, a wide smile taking precedence on his face. He nodded his head feverishly at the jock.

"Yes, yes. That's perfect. Go on…" he urged.

Liam gave him a small half-smile as he looked back down onto the paper. His pencil made its marks in the space provided below the problem.

 _6p = 8_

Liam bit his lip, panicking a bit as he looked back up to Nahliel.

"Divide?" He asked in whimpering voice.

Nahliel nodded to him confidently.

Liam looked back down at the paper. He worked until he came up with the answer,

 _p=8/6; p= 4/3_

"Is this it?" he mumbled.

Nahliel took a seat next to him.

"Bravo, Liam. That is correct. But, you're not quite finished yet."

Liam shuddered. The proudness that he felt from coming up with the right value, slowly fading away.

"I'm not? What's there left to do?" he demanded, his voice getting high and mighty.

Nahliel smiled nervously and brought his finger to where an image of a standard trapezoid rested on the side of the paper.

"Well, you have to apply the information that you found to answer the bigger question: what's the area of the trapezoid?"

Liam blinked incredulously at him, holding his arms out in a grand gesture.

"Wh-What? How the hell am I supposed to know how to do that?"

Nahliel let out a deep breath of air. "Liam. Calm down. You can do this. As my grandfather always said…"

"I don't care what your grandfather said!" He thundered, standing up from his library chair. The occupants of the library all stared at him in awe, the librarians even too hesitant to shush him.

The jock snarled to the crowd, most of them turning away.

"Listen man, I'm not smart enough for this. I'm not supposed to be a brainiac. I'm supposed to look good." He kissed his bicep for emphasis, and Nahliel was stunned at the fact that his shirt had remained in tact this whole time.

"There's no hope," he explained, lowering his voice.

Nahliel stood up slowly from his seat, looking his student in the eye.

"Yes, there is hope Liam. Just look how much progress you already made. You are smart, you just need to focus yourself. "

Liam looked away, his eyebrows furrowed together, and his brain working overtime. He clutched a fist full of his hair frustration.

"Whatever man," he grumbled. He started to collect his strewn out books back into his backpack.

"Where are you going?" Nahliel gaped.

Liam didn't bother to look up to him.

"We're done here. My brain hurts and I need to go home."

He aggressively zipped up his backpack, only giving Nahliel a glance before rushing off.

Nahliel slapped his forehead, looking down to mutter obscenities to himself.

Matt, the young lad, who had been sitting a few tables away, watched the whole scene unfold. The best-seller author tugged the corners of his mouth into a frown, sighing. He picked up the book that he was reading, pushed in his chair in, and made his way towards Nahliel.

"Salutations," he greeted, now standing in front of the boy.

Nahliel cast his head up, his green eyes meeting Matt's hazel ones.

"Oh hey Matt."

Matt smiled, taking a seat at the table.

"So, that was quite the scene back there," Matt chuckled. He brushed his hand over his flattop red hair.

"Yeah," Nahliel sulked, taking the seat across from him.

"I just don't get it. He's been making great stride. I don't know why he gets so angry and jumpy now when he doesn't know what to do. He's been so distracted lately."

Matt pursed his lips, tapping his chin in thought.

"Don't be discouraged." He stood up from his seat, putting his arms through the straps of his book-bag.

"As Winston S. Churchill pronounced," Matt paused for dramatic effect, "Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm."

Nahliel smiles, getting up from his seat as well.

"Who am I to argue with Churchill?"

He looked down to his watch, widening his eyes at what was displayed to him.

"Excuse me, would you mind catching the bus with me?" he questioned Matt.

Matt snickered, shaking his head at the teen's use of vocabulary.

"Race ya," he said before zooming off. Nahliel almost tripped over himself trying to follow Matt out.

"Hey, wait for me!"

Liam stomped out of the library, grumbling to himself about math and equations. He didn't understand why Nahliel insisted that he knew this stuff. He didn't get it, he doesn't get it and he never will get it. He continued to walk down the hall, clutching his fists at his side until he heard a voice behind him.

"Liam," it called out.

Liam shut his eyes tight, turning around to meet his caller in rage.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

The teen who came face to face with him, was now revealed to be none other than Adagio.

He crossed his arms over his torso, stopping in front of the buff male.

"Word on the street is, you're planning on pulling some stupid shit at the pep rally."

Liam stared at Adagio blankly. Who the hell told him? Is there a rat on the football team? He quickly narrowed his eyes at Adagio.

"Where the hell did you get that idea? I'm dealing with other problems right now, okay? If I don't pass my next freaking Geometry test, I'm off the team. You honestly think I have time for some dumb prank?"

Adagio looked at him, clearly unimpressed. He quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

"I've known you for two whole years, Gates, and I know that you can lie straight through your teeth. Just in case you are planning to go through with this crap, just know that you're putting not only yourself, but the future of the whole team at risk. If you have any brains in that big, obnoxious head of yours, you would reconsider. Now, if you'll excuse me, I actually have somewhere to be."

Adagio pushed past him, making his way further down the hallway.

Liam sighed, heading in the opposite direction and dragging his feet across the floor.

* * *

 **Time: 6:08 p.m.**

 **Place: Wawanakwa Academy; Auditorium**

* * *

Theaters are curious places, magician's trick-boxes where the golden memories of dramatic triumphs linger like nostalgic ghosts, and where the unexplainable, the fantastic, the tragic, the comic and the absurd are routine occurrences on and off the stage. Hustling and bustling, a team of students rushed around, preparing themselves for the next scene to be rehearsed. The stage crew members were up in the balcony to control the lights and sound from there.

"Okay, everyone, we're going to do another take. Are we ready?" Kara asked. The blonde held a clipboard in her hand, a pen in the other. Being head of stage crew definitely had its pressures.

She came over to where Sophia and Grace held the large spotlights.

"Hi girls. How are you doing with the lights?" she asked them.

Sophia smiled brightly. "Now that Grace is here to help, fantastic."

Kara smiled at them, and scurried away, checking them off on her clipboard.

"You know, I can't thank you enough for lending a hand, Grace."

Sophia's dark blue eyes focused on the other girl. She wore a wide smile on her face.

Grace rolled her eyes playfully at the girl. "Don't even mention it, Soph. It's the least I could do after you pushed me to join the Math team. Besides, spinning these lights around is fun. Woo!"

Grace played with the spotlight, aiming it in various spots of the auditorium while Sophia held a hand up to her face, giggling with her eyes closed.

"Hey!"

The two girls heard Chris' strained voice from below.

"Knock it off! I'm too stressed for this. And where the hell is Chef with my iced latte?"

Grace looked down below, meeting eyes with Principal McLean. His eyes were bloodshot, he had on an ugly scowl, and his hair was a mess under his theatrical, red beret.

"Sorry, Mr. McLean," Grace called out an apology. She quickly refocused the light to where it was supposed to be and looked at Sophia with a shrug.

"He's just stressed out about opening night. He wants everything to be unrealistically perfect," Sophia explained.

Grace smiled. "And it's _going_ to be perfect. I know that this is my first day on the job, but you have an extremely dedicated cast here. Opening night will be spectacular."

Sophia looked down onto the lit stage. "I sure hope so."

"Hey Scar, are we good with the music?" Kara approached the heterochromia lad.

Scar smiled, showing his sharpened teeth.

"We're a go. All the tracks are in order, and properly synchronized with light cues."

Kara nodded, checking something off of her clipboard. "Sounds great."

She approached the soundboard, looking to the two males monitoring it.

"Hi Scar!"

The teenager heard a voice from behind him. He whipped his head around, slightly confused, to rest on Piper, the sophomore student that assisted him with the music.

He grinned.

"Oh, good evening Piper."

She smiled, going to take a seat next to him.

"So…" she trailed, looking around awkwardly. "You're birthday is in like, nine days, right?"

He smiled brightly.

"Yep, same day as opening night. How'd you remember?"

Piper smirks proudly, placing her hands on her hips.

"Well, a birthday on Halloween and opening night isn't easily forgettable. Sucks, you can't do something special for it. Instead, we're stuck in school until like 11pm running the show. But, it's exhilarating, you know? Our first live studio audience! Aren't you so excited?" she gushed.

Piper was a bit of a chatty Cathy.

Scar nodded his head. "Of course. And, it's no problem. I usually just stay home for my birthday, anyway. So this is a step up," he chuckled.

Piper grinned awkwardly. "Well, I'll definitely try to get you a present."

Scar smiled, getting up to bow to her. "Thank you, Piper. You're too kind."

Piper grinned again. "It's no problem at all. Everyone deserves to feel special on his or her birthday…" she trailed.

Scar widened his eyes, letting them rest on the girl. He nodded slowly, looking away from her to focus on the production. A million thoughts swarmed around in his head.

Kara opened her mouth to talk to the two boys at the soundboard, but quickly clamped it shut when she felt her phone vibrate inside of her pocket. She stopped in her tracks, quickly pulling out the smart device and looking at the illuminated screen.

 _From: Eli :3_

 _Okay, okay. How about this one? I always thought that happiness started with an H, but now I see that it starts with U. ;)_

Kara giggled audibly, staring at the screen. She had almost forgotten that her and Eli were in the middle of a cheesy pickup line contest. She smiled, thinking for a moment before typing something back.

 _Very impressive, I have to give you that. But, can you beat this? There must be a rainbow somewhere, because I seem to have found the treasure. ;P_

She grins again, hitting the send button and stuffing the phone back inside of her pocket. Turns out that the two boys at the soundboard had been staring at her, waiting for her to do her check.

"Oh," she perked up, blushing in embarrassment. "How are we doing with the soundboard?"

The nerdy boy with thick-rimmed glasses pressed an applause sound effect, giving Kara a thumbs-up.

She smiled, leaning over from the balcony to spot Mr. McLean.

"We're a go, Mr. McLean," she hollered down to him.

Chris grinned, now calmer as Chef had retrieved him his latte. He took a seat in the director's chair, quickly pulling out a megaphone from seemingly nowhere.

"Places people! Let's make this quick so that I can go home! This is the last scene for the day!"

Chef grumbled, taking a seat next to Chris and crossing his arms over himself.

The house lights dimmed, and stage lights went on.

"We're starting from the middle of Act II, Scene 1."

Adagio, Claira, and Dill, the boy playing Peter Pan, all took their places on stage, dressed appropriately in their costumes.

Adagio starts, looking to Claira, his stage wife, Maureen.

"And... action..." Chris whispers.

"…The Old Crow was quite worried about Peter's fondness for adventure."

Claira sighed, sitting herself down onto a prop rocking chair. She adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of her nose.

"That's so true. It's what parents do. Worry over their children."

Adagio turned to her.

"And there was plenty to worry over. Secretly, Peter turned his nest into a kind of boat. He even added a crooked mast and a tattered sail, which was the blanket from his old baby carriage. And every time he got an idea, he crowed! Irritating the general populace immensely."

Claira quirked her head in confusion. "I thought you said he was doing it in secret."

Adagio stalked over to the 'window'. "He had no idea how sound travels."

There is a sound effect to symbolize a dream sequence and Dill is now this Peter Pan character. He pulls a boat onto 'Maureen's' carpet, which was really just a canoe. He has become quite real for them both.

Adagio continues, narrating the scene.

"He pulled the nest-boat to the shore's edge and pushed it into the briny deep. It floated!"

Peter is now in his boat. "I name you, the Jolly Pan!" he said triumphantly.

"Neverland ahoy! ER-ER-ER-EROOO!"

Claira interjects as the scene with Peter Pan pauses. "He's really going, there? To Neverland?"

Adagio nodded confidently.

"He turned the boat toward the wind and lo! The breeze filled the woebegone sail and the tiny skiff began to move! Soon in was past the break waves and out to sea and on its way."

Claira put her hands on her hips, disappointed with Peter's actions. "That boy! That silly, silly boy!"

Adagio smirked, his voice now lower than before.

"He lay in his nest. Neverland was looming bigger and bigger. Suddenly, he noticed something peculiar in a corner of the boat-nest. His Pan-Pipes seemed to be glimmering!"

Peter picks up a hiding fairy by its wings and inspects it. Dove, who had entered the stage, being the fairy.

"A stowaway fairy!" he announces.

Dove mimicks rage. "Put me down, you big stupid boy! Put me down this minute!"

"Which one are you?" Peter asks.

Dove sighs. "They call me Tinker Bell! Now, put me down! I'm warning you…"

Back to narration, Adagio started. "A word about Tinker Bell; she is the most sarcastic, nasty, jealous, spiteful, mean-spirited fairy in the whole Fairy World. She doesn't mean to be; she just can't help it."

Claira cowered. "She sounds like a fright, James!"

Adagio smiled. "Shhh! Don't let her hear you say that."

Maureen leaned in. "And do they become friends?"

"You'll see."

Back to Peter Pan.

"What are you doing here? Why did you sneak aboard my boat?" he asked.

"You don't think I want to be here, do you? Now, PUT ME DOWN!"

Peter looks at her for a second and she drops onto the rough floor, and as she painfully arises, she notices that her wing is bent. She stands up in the boat.

"OUCH! That really hurt, clumsy. You've bent my wing. I can't fly! Now I'll never get off of this boat!"

"Cut!" Chris yells into the megaphone.

Dill looks caught off guard, as he was the next one to deliver his line as Peter Pan.

"What's up McLean?" he asked the grown man. The principal looped his hand around in a circle, which signaled the stage crew to shut off the stage lights.

"Yeah, we're done here. It looks like you guys know what you're doing. I don't need to see anymore today." He stands up from his chair as Chef stands up with him.

"You kids should go home, do your homework, get some rest…"

He stops at the exit of the auditorium. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you guys deserve it."

The raven-haired man turns on his heels with Chef following behind. He doesn't say another word to the students but instead heads out to the parking lot.

Sophia clicked off the lights, looking at Grace.

Grace shrugged. "At least we get to go home early."

Sophia giggled as the two began to grab their stuff. They traveled down the stairs and to ground level at the exit after saying bye to stage crew.

"Hey, do you need a ride home, Soph?"

Sophia perked up. "I was just going to call my brother, but sure!"

Grace smiled, following her out.

The students all scattered. Night began to fall down on them. All that was left was a barren stage under an old, flickering light.

Tomorrow would be the first ever, and hopefully last Wawanakwa-Pahkitew joint pep rally. One could only hope for a happy ending, but the likeliness was very slim. The only thing that was certain about tomorrow night, is that nothing was certain at all. The students would just have to wait and see.

* * *

 **A/N: I know this chapter was short and insignificant, but it's just a bonus chapter. Please, please, please, I'm literally begging you to review. And please leave some words of encouragement in your reviews. I would appreciate it, especially since I'm so swamped with work right now. Also, the more you review, the more you will be rewarded. I'll leave it at that. Thank you for reading. Next chapter we will finally get to see what happens at the pep rally. Until next time!**


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